


Blueshift

by nayanroo



Series: Kingsverse [4]
Category: The Avengers (2012), Thor (Movies)
Genre: F/M, Fury/Coulson if you think about it a minute, pre-Clint/Darcy - Freeform, space mysteries
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-22
Updated: 2013-11-01
Packaged: 2017-12-06 02:29:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 60,913
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/730553
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nayanroo/pseuds/nayanroo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When a man turns a device using Jotunheim's magic and Tesseract-like power on our heroes, the search for answers spreads quickly.  From SHIELD's ranks to Europe, from Midgard to Asgard and Jotunheim, in a web that stretches into the past and future of more than one realm.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Doppler Effect

**Author's Note:**

> The madness continues.
> 
>  _Doppler effect;_ the change in frequency of a wave (or other periodic event) for an observer moving relative to its source.

The sidewalk was packed; downtown San Francisco around Union Square always was. She wove between window-shoppers, between the rich and bored, as she made her way to her target.

“ _We’ve secured the building entrances. You’re clear to go in when you’re in position._ ”

She clicked her comm once to acknowledge the transmission and changed direction, walking up Geary toward Powell and the Westin hotel that dominated that side of the square. Apart from the usual stares - a beautiful woman in a business suit walking down the street drew looks no matter what - nobody stopped her or paid her more attention than usual. With dark sunglasses and a quick pace, everyone assumed she was on her way somewhere and didn’t bother to stop her.

“ _Where is she? Is she there? I’m bored._ ”

“ _Being an Avenger isn’t all shootouts with aliens and evil robots, Iron Man._ ”

“ _I thought we agreed my code name was--_ ”

“ _Inappropriate._ ”

She kept her head down and walked a little faster. If she looked up she could probably see Stark, he wasn’t exactly subtle in his armored suit (or any suit), but she had a job to do.

“ _You need to keep the comm channels clear for in case we need them. Everyone be quiet and let Widow do her work. Maybe everything will go off perfectly._ ”

There was a snort over the frequency, and Natasha almost did the same herself as she pushed open the door to the hotel. Plans, especially _their_ plans, rarely went the way they were supposed to. Something was going to go awry, it was just a matter of waiting to see what that was.

“Can you help me?” she asked as she walked up to the concierge and pulled a hotel key out of her purse. “I’m pretty sure this got demagnetized, can you re-code it? I’m in room 832.”

Between her smile and her demeanor, the concierge was more than happy to oblige, and Natasha gave her another smile as she took the key back. When it came down to it, half of infiltration work like this was acting like you knew exactly what you were doing and that you belonged where you were. People responded to that, and to polite manners. The fewer deadweight bodies to have to stuff into closets, the more likely a mission would succeed.

She got herself alone in an elevator and began rummaging in her bag, careful not to let her arm go in any deeper than it would have had the inside _not_ been enchanted. A useful tool, this, but Natasha had her reservations. She had worked for years without magical assistance, and while she was certainly appreciative of their new _consultant’s_ work, she couldn’t help but worry it would take the edge off her if she could have bags and pouches and packs that could carry anything she could possibly need, rather than the bare essentials. Her fingers brushed her jumpsuit, several guns, magazines she had loaded with ammunition on the flight out, all there and ready for her.

“ _We’ve scanned the building. Matching body mass with the person in there, and analyzing visual scans of all points of entry and exit from the hotel, Von Paselk is in the room._ ”

“I’ll be right up, sweetie,” Natasha replied as though she were talking via the Bluetooth earpiece blinking obnoxiously on her left ear.

Someone snickered. “Don’t laugh,” she said to the air with an appropriate pout for any cameras. “It wasn’t funny.”

“ _Fuckin’ hilarious,_ ” Tony said. “ _Hawkeye cracked a smile._ ”

“ _He’s a goddamned liar._ ”

“ _Can we keep the comm chatter down?_ ” Steve sounded exasperated. “ _Monitoring reports that he’s made no calls and no other signals of any kind have left the room. Piggyback trace on his internet activity doesn’t bring back anything alarming either. You’re still clear._ ”

“I’m getting out of the elevator now. Talk to you soon.” That was the signal for comm silence. Natasha wished they could all adhere to that, but she knew better than to expect complete professionalism from any team Tony Stark was part of. Still, everything was quiet as she made her way down the hall and pushed her keycard into the slot on the door.

It had been a simple matter to hack the hotel’s system to make it seem as though someone was staying in this room; now that she was in it Natasha locked the door and changed quickly into her Kevlar-woven jumpsuit, buckling her thigh holsters on. She felt less naked now, wearing tighter clothing and her proper weapons, than she did wearing the business suit. The purse went into a backpack she pulled out of it (she’d asked Loki if there were any strange consequences of putting one expanded space inside another and he’d shrugged and said only if you did strange things with them and that didn’t reassure her at all) along with the business clothes. One last piece of equipment – a handheld device that could do just about anything – and she was ready. 

“Patching in the video now.” Thumbing the device on, Natasha acquired the hotel’s wi-fi signal and got into their security camera system, replacing the live footage with a loop showing the stairwells and hallways she’d be in as empty. Movie night right before tactical meetings for this mission had been _Ocean’s 11_ , and it showed. “Done. Heading upstairs.”

“ _Von Paselk is still in his room. Final clearance – hope this goes smoothly, Widow._ ”

“We can hope.” She pushed the door open a crack and looked both ways – not many people on the level of the deluxe suites at this hour, and the cleaning service had come and gone, so Natasha made her way upstairs to another deserted hallway, watching as the room numbers ticked down to 934 and tapping at her device. The cameras had been easy; door locks were much harder, because they weren’t based on any external connection she could hack easily. There were ways, though, with the right tech, and Natasha pulled up the command, touched the device to the door lock, and pressed EXECUTE. The door lock disengaged smoothly, and she let out a breath, silently pushing the door open.

The TV was on, the host announcing their special guest for the day. She couldn’t see Von Paselk – the partition wall hid him – but a moment of listening brought the sound of fabric on fabric. Clothes on bedsheets, probably, that the noise of the TV couldn’t hide completely. Natasha edged into the room, slipping a gun out of its holster. _To the thighs, so he can’t run,_ she thought. Incapacitate and apprehend. We need him to talk. Boots silent on the carpet, she paced forward, muscles bunched and ready—

“ _Abort! Widow, abort mission, that’s not him!_ ”

She only had a second between the transmission and the moment she rounded the corner of the partition, but it was enough time for her to duck under the sudden blast from the silvery robot standing beside the bed. There was one of the cleaning staff there, tied up – from the glance she got of him, Natasha figured he about matched Von Paselk’s physical profile. Close enough to fool bioscans, anyway.

Then her attention was back on the robot. “Iron Man,” she snapped. “This one’s for you.”

The window blew in, showering glass all over the furniture and the carpet, and the robot flew backwards under the concussive force of Stark’s repulsor beams. “You always bring me such wonderful gifts,” Tony Stark quipped as he landed with a thud. “Cap, any eyes on our sneaky little scientist?”

“ _Not yet. What’s going on up there_?”

“Civilian used as a bio-decoy for our scans. Guessing the robot was masked from us somehow too.” Natasha pulled a knife out of her boot and cut the zip ties around the staff member’s wrists and ankles, lifting him bodily under the arm. “Come on, we’ve got to get clear,” she told him, all business. “Downstairs.”

Pulling a wad of cloth out of his mouth as they ran, the staff pointed down the hallway. “Service elevator that way,” he said. “It’s faster than the public ones.”

“Thanks.” Natasha pushed him down and covered him with her body, feeling bits of wall patter against her back as Tony and the robot blasted through the hallway and into the opposite room. “You know which rooms are occupied on this floor. Get those people out first, then everyone else above and below.”

“Yes, okay.” The man smiled at her. “Thanks for saving me.”

“I’m an Avenger.” Natasha glanced behind her, toward the service elevator. The hallway was clear for now, but she could hear the whine and pulse of Stark’s repulsors, and that meant he was still around somewhere. “It’s what Avengers do.”

She left him and jogged to the service elevator, skidding inside and hitting the button for the garage. “Is my ride ready?”

“ _Waiting for you in the garage,_ ” Clint replied.

Bruce came on the comm for the first time. “ _Facial recognition scans have located the target moving west on Geary._ ”

Natasha bit back a curse. “That street is so clogged with tourists—Dragon? You’re better able to maneuver in there. Want to be my wheels?”

Another new voice, one that sounded far too gleeful. “ _It would be my pleasure._ ”

The elevator doors opened on the sound of a motorcycle engine revving and the squeal of tires. Natasha flung a leg over the back of the bike when it screeched to a halt in front of her, wrapped her arms around the rider, and held on tight as they sped out of the garage.

“ _Got you on visual._ ” Steve sounded stressed, and he probably was. Natasha was a seasoned agent with years of field work under her belt, and Sif was no stranger to fighting, but she was also visiting royalty, and if she got hurt it would be his responsibility. “ _Got him, too. Still west on Geary. We’re following you guys._ ”

Natasha looked back over her shoulder and saw a SHIELD-marked car pull out into traffic behind them, its lights flashing.

Sif was a quick learner and wove between cars deftly, but Natasha held on as tightly as she could to keep from sliding off the back. Agard’s queen was slender but there was really only room for one person on the seat.

“Get me close!” she yelled in Sif’s ear. “If I get on his bike I can get control and skid us out!”

Sif nodded and Natasha dug her nails into the warrior’s leather-covered midsection as the bike leaped forward. Even with two people on it the thing was fast, and cars swerved to get out of their way as they raced down Geary, under the walking bridge into Japantown and toward Cathedral Hill.

*

“I need _eyes_ , Bruce!”

The robot had outpaced him and then dropped down below the skyline; hovering above it, Tony couldn’t see _anything_ , and even listening to city noise didn’t help him much. Cars honked all over the place. He couldn’t use that to pinpoint where Natasha and Sif were, and thus where Von Paselk would be.

“ _Working on it!_ ” Bruce sounded stressed, and Tony took a breath. He knew his own capacity for being demanding, but driving his friend to Hulk out on the command deck of the helicarrier wasn’t on his agenda for the day. “Head west, toward Golden Gate Park, they’re there. Whatever that thing is, it’s heading that way—“

Tony angled his feet and hands and shot off west, scanning ahead. “Don’t you have a better way to track it directly?”

“ _Working—your suit data’s saying it does have a really unique energy signature from its repulsors and weapons, unique enough to track because it’s not like your suit, it’s…_ ”

Bruce trailed off, and Tony flew in silence for a full two seconds. “Banner, talk to me. It’s _what_?”

“Uh—“ Bruce sounded _really_ unsettled. “Uh—Tony! Dead ahead!”

The robot shot out between two apartment buildings and Tony hared off after it, putting Bruce’s strange behavior out of his mind for now. That thing would keep going until it had collected Von Paselk again, he was sure of it, and he had to make sure that that didn’t happen.

*

“ _Sif? Natasha?_ ”

“Little busy right now!” Natasha shouted over the wind.

“ _Yeah, I know, but that robot got away from Stark – don’t worry, he’s chasing it though, I’m sure it’ll be fine—_ “

“How far out is it?”

“ _You’ve got about three minutes, it doesn’t seem to know more than a direction._ ” Bruce paused. “ _Stark said it wasn’t using anything like repulsor tech to shoot at him. It was more like magic._ ”

Sif went tense under Natasha’s hands. “That’s for later,” the Widow said. “We’re close to Van Paselk, he’s my priority. Sif,” and she leaned forward again. “If Stark can’t catch that other thing you have to keep it off me.”

“I understand, Natasha!” She couldn’t see it through the lower guard of Sif’s helmet, but the Asgardian sounded as though she spoke through bared teeth. “We close on him!”

Von Paselk wove between cars and into oncoming traffic as the two sides of Geary became one, trying to shake their pursuit. Sif wasn’t deterred, however, revving her engine to get them up a hill as she pulled up a little ahead of him at last, maneuvering in as close as she could.

“Knife!” Natasha shouted. Von Paselk had one in his hand, the glint of the honed edge the only warning she’d had. They swerved away again, out of reach, and Sif pulled her collapsed glaive out of its magnetic sheath on the side of the bike, gripping it tight. 

“It cannot be more difficult than a fight on horseback!” she said, voice echoing in the comm. “Let me get close again!”

Natasha held on as they shot forward. When Sif was in position again, she shifted her grip on the Asgardian, crouching precariously on the seat to gather herself before springing into space. It was only thanks to her superior balance and probably Von Paselk’s willpower that the bike didn’t topple when she landed on it. As it was the renegade scientist had to quickly shift his attention from Sif – keeping pace with them, her sword still in her hand – to the woman who now held tight around his left arm. 

A sign ahead pointed down Park Presidio Boulevard and Natasha _yanked_ hard, trying to move him left to turn. Sif roared up on their right, seeing what she was doing, and between Natasha and Sif’s blade Von Paselk had no choice but to swerve left toward Golden Gate Park.

“ _Where are you going? The park’s gonna be full of tourists!_ ”

Natasha ground her teeth as Paselk tried to rear back and push her off the back of his bike. “That thing still tailing us?” She squirmed out of the way of a blind knife jab, reaching forward to grasp Von Paselk’s wrist and push it down until he was forced to let go of the knife. It clattered to the pavement and was lost behind them.

“ _Yes, but--_ ”

“It’s tracking him somehow – better a fight in a park with open space than a crowded street!”

People scattered as they barreled into the park, tourists shouting warnings and invective in a dozen languages as the two bikes passed. Faintly she could hear them doing so a second time as Clint and Steve followed in the car, but her attention was right back on Von Paselk. Reaching forward, she closed her hand around the man’s hand, the one still on the handlebars, and forced them onto an access road that ran between a sports field and an open green space. He fought her every inch of the way, fingers digging into her wrist so hard she cried out in pain.

“Sif!” she managed to choke out, “We need to end this here! The tires! Slash the tires!”

“Get ready!” With a wordless yell, Sif swung her blade and cut open the front tire on Paselk’s bike. The abrupt shift in momentum made the bike fishtail and skid, toppling over and sliding off the road into the grass. Natasha grabbed Von Paselk under his arms and rolled with him away from the bike as it kicked up clods of dirt and grass, her grip tight across his chest. She could feel her shoulder digging into the dirt and jammed the toes of her boots down too, slowing them down. As soon as she could she rolled off him and grabbed for his wrists with one hand and the pocket with her zip ties in it with the other.

“Kristof Von Paselk,” she said, trying not to sound as irritated as she was that this had taken such a turn, “You have been deemed a threat to security and found likely to possess information related to terrorist activities against peaceful countries. Per statute one-two-three-point-five of the Strategic Homeland Intervention, Enforcement and Logistics Division agreement with the International Criminal Police Organization, you are bound and remanded into custody, where you will be taken to a secure—“

Something hit her in the back _hard_ and Natasha felt the wind leave her lungs once, then again when Von Paselk slammed his palm into her chest and sent her flying backwards. Her ears rang with the concussive force of whatever had first hit her, but she could still feel the vibrations of Von Paselk’s feet through the ground, running away.

“Stay there!” Sif called. Natasha watched her run past. “I will catch him!”

She didn’t really have much of a choice; everything hurt too much to move. “Anytime you guys want to help,” she gasped into her comm.

“We’re here, ‘tasha,” Clint said, leaning over here. “That thing from the hotel nailed you right as we were pulling up. Medical’s on their way from the ‘carrier. Where—“

“That way.” Natasha gestured with a hand. A rising whine overhead made her look up to see Tony, repulsors firing at the robot as it disintegrated in its fall from the sky. After it crashed into the trees beyond the field they were in, Natasha climbed painfully to her feet and started jogging after Sif and Von Paselk, pulling one of her guns out of its holster. Clint had an arrow nocked to his bowstring as he kept pace with her.

“Sure you should be up and running around?” he asked. Natasha ground her teeth.

“I’m not letting Sif go in by herself, Asgardian or not. Come on, they’ve got a lead.”

*

Sif chased their quarry into a copse of pungent trees, the narrow leaves crunching under her boots as she took two quick steps and leaped upon him, bearing him to the ground. She was back on her feet in a flash, the tip of her blade at Von Paselk’s throat and her foot pressing down on his chest.

“You have knowledge my friends seek,” she told him. “I would stay still if you wish to divulge it without having to write it down.”

To her surprise – certainly Sif knew scholars who could be warriors as well, but this one had not struck her as much of a fighter – Von Paselk sneered up at her, shifting to relieve the pressure on his forearms, trapped under him. “Do they have you on a leash, then?” he asked in his accented voice. Sif narrowed her eyes.

“No man leashes _me_.”

“You don’t frighten us, you and your _friends_ ,” Von Paselk spat. “We have something you will never expect. Something that could make us _gods._ ”

“I bloodied my first blades on men who boasted as you do,” Sif snapped, but her brows drew together. Something they would not expect? “You are nothing but words empty of weight.”

“Care to wager?”

“Sif?” The sounds of booted feet on dead leaves. “You in there?”

She turned her head just slightly to reply to Natasha and that was when he struck, pulling some kind of device from behind his back and pointing it at her. What it released she did not know, but it was hot and cold at once and licked sickly blue flames up her body as she flew backwards into the branches of the trees around them. The wood snapped and broke before Sif, driving splinters through her motorcycle leathers and into her skin, digging in deep when she struck a trunk at last and spun off to one side to land face-down in the dirt and leaf litter. 

Sif tried to move and found her body full of pain, so much she _whimpered_ as she had not since she was a child, grateful she was alone. Her skin felt as though it had been scalded, and when she tried to twist and get to her feet a jolt of pain radiated out from her abdomen. Knowing she could well worsen her injuries by moving too much, Sif made herself stop struggling, but rage and pain were equal parts in her heart.

Shouts rose all around her, the crackle of radios and the sound of boots coming closer, and then she felt herself being rolled over by strong hands.

“She’s alive!” Steve called, and another set of feet came running over from somewhere. “She’s—over here, Loki!”

The slightly fuzzy view of Steve’s head and shoulders was replaced by her husband’s face, anger in every line of it as he studied her and then turned to look back at someone behind him.

“Where is the _fool?_ ” he snapped, even as his hand crept between them and clasped hers tightly. “I will put him to the question _myself_ , and then we will see—“

“We’ve got whatever it is he used.” Coulson was here too, Sif thought foggily. Oh, this was bad. Well, the safety of visiting Asgardian dignitaries _was_ SHIELD’s concern, and they had been the ones to reassure her and Loki that certainly it would be a simple enough mission to aid them on… “We’re going to put it in containment and—“

“ _Do not touch it._ Are you all incompetent? Do not touch it until I can examine it. This is magic’s work, and unless you have all forgotten, _I_ am your consultant on it.” Loki turned back to Sif, and the anger bled into worry as he probed her scorched leathers with cool fingers.

“I am not yet at Valhalla’s gates,” Sif told him after she could not see him thus any longer. “No need to look so morose, dear husband.”

“Perhaps not, if you are still issuing orders to your king as you usually do.” But neither his expression nor his grip eased much. “This is the magic of Jotunheim, Sif. I must examine whatever object that man had that channeled it, to be certain of the components of it, but parts of the spell residue… they resonate.” 

Sif dragged her thumb across his knuckles. She may have come to terms with his parentage, but the one who most abhorred it was Loki himself; it was a stone around his neck, a foul spirit whispering in his ear. To have it used against her must gall him.

“I will recover,” she rasped. “I have endured worse, Loki. Of course I might better recuperate if I am not sprawled on the ground…”

“Right. Yes.” Loki withdrew his hand from hers and shrugged her arm around his shoulders, scooping her up off the ground. She had expected to simply be helped to her feet but did not complain – if she were to be honest Sif was not sure she could walk right now, not without great pain. Better not to aggravate her injuries unnecessarily. The frostbite had gone deep, and would need a healing stone to mend the damage to her muscles there.

“Is she all right?” Coulson asked as he fell into step beside them.

“She needs to have her wounds cleaned, at the very least.” Loki gave the waiting medics an imperious nod and they rushed over with one of their rolling beds. “And I fear we shall have to replace her riding leathers. Might I suggest something with a bit more green and gold this time, my lady?”

“You may suggest whatever you like, but I much prefer to keep my reds and silvers. We would not want to be mistaken for each other on the battlefield.” She touched his hand again, though, just briefly with the tips of her fingers, before the medics began pushing her away.

 _There is a puzzle here,_ Sif thought to herself, and closed her eyes.

*

Loki watched as they put Sif on a quinjet that had landed in the field. The whole area had been cordoned off from the public – not that the barriers and agents patrolling the perimeter kept curious Midgardians from crowding the plastic yellow tape, stretching to see what was going on. He’d already been sighted and could see many with their phones pointed at him. Not difficult to do – he had been on the helicarrier’s command deck the whole time but wore his battle gear nonetheless, and even surrounded by people in dark clothing he stood out.

Under other circumstances he would play to them a little, but now he just turned away, looking back toward the grove of trees. It was crawling with agents – the whole area was, of course, SHIELD scientists and containment specialists trampling the grass underfoot. Behind him some were collecting debris from whatever it was that Stark had been fighting, packaging it for transport with Stark stomping around in his armor and yelling at them. Another group was loading Sif’s motorcycle onto the same quinjet as the crates of collected debris. They were being careful, which was good; she treated the machine like a prize horse and would likely spend hours cleaning and maintaining it the next chance she got.

“Your Majesty?” Coulson had a tablet out and his phone pressed to his ear, but was paying attention to neither one at the moment. “The site’s been cleared.”

“Time to go to work, then,” Loki said, and followed Coulson into the trees. A pair of agents, walking a man with his hands in cuffs, passed them going out. For a moment, Loki’s skin prickled, and with more than just the desire to very slowly and thoroughly impress upon the man why he had erred grievously. He didn’t pause or change expression, but as they walked into the heart of the grove of trees he glanced back over his shoulder, smoothing the tiny hairs on the backs of his hands.

 _Curious,_ Loki thought.

The clusters of agents here parted respectfully for him, and Loki gave them regal nods of acknowledgment. Proper deference among SHIELD agents was becoming more widespread, but one did what one could to encourage it. He was in a foul mood. Better to keep these underlings from bearing the brunt of it.

One last ring of white-suited agents peeled away and Coulson paused. “We left it alone, as per your orders,” he said. Fury’s right hand was always so careful with his words – _orders_ , not _instructions_ , a very fine distinction indeed. The man would have done well at court.

“Wise to heed the warnings of someone versed in these matters. Send everyone away who does not need to be here,” he replied, but his attention was entirely on the ground in front of him.

The device was not large. When he picked it up it fit easily in his palm, a thick rectangle of cool silvery metal giving way to a bright blue-green disc in the center. There were buttons, marks along the edges which upon examination were controls – on, armed, activate. He felt a cold wetness on his skin and turned the thing over to see frost melting away on the opposite face, warmed by his body and the weak sunlight of this realm. He had never seen anything like it, and though Loki highly doubted that their agreement of mutual aid and exchange of information extended half as far as the wording stated, SHIELD had no means, no access to this kind of magic.

Curious, Loki cupped the device in one hand and stroked the surface with the fingertips of the other, probing into it with delicate threads of his own magic. This could be tricky work, particularly when the components of an enchantment were unknown. Some of those whose work he had studied had been known to lay traps for anyone who thought to merely steal their innovations, rather than learn.

This wasn’t the case, though, and Loki felt the device cool in response to his magic, the result of Jotunheim’s magic calling to one of its own. But there was something else alongside and under the Jotunn spellwork, rough as it was. Something that made his skin prickle and raised the tiny hairs on his skin.

“I must return at once,” he said, conjuring a cloth to wrap the device in. “I must take this back to Asgard.”

Coulson’s face didn’t betray anything and neither did his voice, but Loki could only imagine his dismay when he asked, “You want to go back to Asgard with it? Director Fury won’t—“

“I will speak with him. I imagine we all will have something to say on this venture before Sif and I depart.” He tucked the cloth parcel into one of the pockets of his outfit. “I am not leaving just yet, Agent Coulson. After all, I must see to my wife.”

“Of course.” Coulson tapped a few buttons on his tablet. “I’ll have someone meet you on deck—“

“No need,” Loki interrupted, and pulled the shadows around him, vanishing from the grove and running along the shadowed paths with hurried steps until he emerged from a darker corner of the room Sif had been taken to.

The marriage rites were old magic; when Odin’s grandfather had been bringing Asgard up from nothing, the spells had been old then, and they deepened with time and care. Well, the two of them had had plenty of both, and they had found that the oaths that bound them together revealed more and more. It was comforting for him, in a way. No matter what his mind whispered to him in the dead of night when sleep was far away, Loki had a calm place to go to. 

Logically, he knew he could not keep Sif from putting herself in danger. Taking the glaive from her hands had nearly caused her to lose herself, and that was something he could not abide – she would not be Sif, then. But the thought of losing that calm made him feel sick.

The medics had become accustomed to his sudden appearances and disappearances and stepped in to finish their work. Most of the cloth and dirt was gone from her wounds, and though they looked ugly, she _had_ endured worse just as well as she did now. The room stank of sterility, and Sif hissed as one of the attendants pressed a piece of gauze to a deep scrape on her arm.

“Sorry,” the man told her quietly. “I think we’re done, though. We’ll get out of your way.”

“Thank you,” Sif told them, relaxing back on the paper-covered bed. “You have done well.” As they wheeled out the tray covered in pink-tinted pieces of gauze and torn foil packets, she looked up at him. “Back so soon? I assure you, they do know their craft.”

“I am allowed concern for my queen.” The skin of her stomach glistened wetly in the light around the blackened, frostbitten area. Nothing a healing stone couldn’t solve, and Loki pulled one from a pocket of space and crushed it in his hand, letting the dust sift through his fingers onto her wounds. Sif flinched, but the skin healed instantly, and when he rubbed the last sparkling motes off his fingertips, she sat up.

“So it was the magic of Jotunheim, then?” she asked.

“Yes, but mixed with… some other kind of spell. It was familiar, but not, like an echo of a reflection of something I know. I will have to make a more thorough exploration of it. I have not seen the like of this thing.” His fingertips traced a puncture wound on her shoulder – a splinter of wood had pierced her here, he thought. He used what he knew of healing magic to close it. “This is… clumsy work. Inexperienced. Not what I would expect from Jotunheim; they are not Asgard or Alfheim but they are skilled with magic in their own way.”

“All contained in a thing of Midgard’s devising.” Sif tensed under the healing but let him continue, looking back over her shoulder at him. “It makes no sense – Midgard has no magic of its own and Jotunheim cannot travel.”

“And yet here we are.”

“Heimdall would have told us if he were transporting anyone. He knows our instructions in this.” Sif bit her lip on that, for though she had been the one to suggest it to Loki – by an unfortunate quirk of Asgard law only the king could issue interdictions on Bifrost travel, though ultimately it was left to Heimdall’s discretion, of course – the fact she was denying Midgard wide access to the other realms bothered her. She knew it was not a bad decision, for with some few exceptions the rest of the realm was not at all ready for introduction to the things that lurked the lower worlds, but for those who were her friends it felt like a subtle way of saying they were not trusted.

His healing done, Loki still stroked her arm, brushing up under the edge of her sleeve and back down to her elbow, feeling scars and gooseflesh. “Either way it concerns me, and it concerns the security of our realm. And this one,” he added, almost as an afterthought.

Sif pushed his hand away and reached for her spare tunic. “We’ll want to inform the others.”

“If we must.” Loki eyed her. “Should you be about yet?”

“Probably not.” She winced, stretching experimentally. “But if you intend to speak to Director Fury about anything, you need me there.”

“It is always so nice to have a queen upon whom I can thoroughly rely to support me,” Loki mused, and Sif gave him a look that would have had more venom had the corners of her lips not been twitching. Her first few steps out of the infirmary were stiff and slow, but after a few minutes she was striding along beside him, confident as ever.

“Neither of you can be civil to the other,” she told him archly. “ _Someone_ needs to keep a cool head, and it may as well be me.”

*

Luckily, it wasn’t just Fury waiting in the enclosed conference room when they arrived. Bruce Banner was already there (having been deemed a poor fit for this type of mission, he had opted to remain behind and be logistics for the team). Steve Rogers and Tony Stark were both there as well, and soon after Loki and Sif had taken their seats, Clint and Natasha came in too. Natasha had a limp, but she gave Sif a smile and a nod of the head as she eased into a chair.

“Now that we’re all here,” Fury said, “Anyone mind telling me how the hell a simple enter-and-apprehend mission turned into a cross-city chase and millions of dollars in property damage?”

“Pretty sure that last part is unavoidable.” Tony was pushing himself side to side in his chair despite pointed looks from Steve. “We can’t do our _jobs_ if we’re too worried about smashing up the place to be effective.”

“It was very complicated on the ground, sir.” Natasha was all business and cool logic. “That thing Von Paselk left for us was going to destroy the hotel room at the very least. My priority became protection of the people closest once I realized Von Paselk wasn’t there.”

“Fine. Acceptable.”

“And by moving to an open space,” Clint continued, “We saved more lives. If that fight had gone down in the middle of Union Square, a lot more people would have been hurt.”

“But instead you caused auto accidents along the whole route from there to Golden Gate Park. I guess that was _unavoidable_ too?”

“Local PD was slow in responding.” Steve kept his voice level as well. “They needed convincing we weren’t lunatics, sir. SFPD doesn’t have the same experience with us that NYPD and the surrounding metro police agencies have.”

Fury sighed but acknowledged the point. “I’ll send a SHIELD liaison to work with them. Might not hurt to get a response team out this side of the Rockies as well, to cover the western half of the country.”

“Aren’t we… all there is?” Clint asked. Fury gave him a thin-lipped smile.

“If you were, I’d be _terrified._ ”

“Such confidence in us.” Tony spun back to face them. “I’m assuming we nabbed the little weasel? Yes? Can we talk about that and the thing he brought along with him that _I_ had to take down by myself because Jolly Green Giant wasn’t worthy of going on the field trip?”

“Von Paselk was the target,” Steve began, but Tony waved a hand.

“Not the point. Whatever that thing was shooting at me, the energy signature wasn’t anything JARVIS or Banner recognized. _That_ is my point.”

That made Sif lean forward a little, her eyes narrowing. The one device could be excused as an isolated thing, the invention of a man with too much knowledge he shouldn’t have had. But with something else displaying the same strangeness…

Tony kept on speaking. “We got readings and did some basic analysis. They’re similar to Loki’s magic.”

All eyes turned to Loki, who had settled in his chair as though it were a throne and met the gazes of the rest with a raised eyebrow. “If you think I am complicit in this…”

Bruce shook his head. “It’s too different for it to be you,” he replied.

“Are we really going to call it magic?” Tony groaned.

“As that is what it _is_ , yes.” The battle between the Asgardians insisting things were magic and Tony (and to a lesser extent, Jane and Bruce) pushing back and saying they were as-yet unexplained scientific phenomena was a long and bloody one, and there were only lulls, never truces. “As such I believe it falls under the purview of Asgard.”

“What about that thing Von Paselk used on Sif?” Steve asked. “Glad to see you’re doing all right, ma’am,” he added. Sif gave him a smile; she’d told him time and again that he could be less formal with her. They had fought together, and that put him above those who hadn’t.

“The blending of Midgard design and the magic of the Nine Realms is… innovative. But this is also Asgard’s concern, and I will be taking it back with me to—“

“Hold up.” Fury’s eye had narrowed as Loki spoke. “You can’t just declare all of this your business and cut us out completely. Our agreement—“

“—does not apply here. Not yet.” Loki hadn’t shifted position, but his voice had taken on more of a ring of authority. Sif kept her teeth together for now, but readied herself; when Loki began to feel the need to assert his perceived superiority over Fury, things could get very uncomfortable for everyone. “I would have thought you perfectly willing to let us handle this matter, Director, seeing as how your organization has nobody skilled or capable to do so.”

“Maybe that’d change if you let anyone _learn._ ”

“No one in SHIELD is _capable_.”

Fury’s lips had pressed into a very thin line and Sif gave her husband a quelling look. There was ensuring that Asgard’s sovereignty wasn’t compromised by SHIELD’s meddling, and then there was Loki needling Fury because he liked to jab people to see what they’d do. Neither was acceptable to her.

Loki caught her look and sighed dramatically. “Do you know of _any_ of Midgard who have exhibited magical potential? As you refuse to share the information I know you have on the subject, I am forced to ask directly.” When Fury didn’t answer, Loki smirked. “So you do. And you monitor them, because that is what SHIELD does – strategize, intervene, and enforce, yes? They all will have been cleared of involvement by now, I imagine. Why don’t you tell us?”

Fury glared at him for a moment, then glanced down at the glowing display between his palms on the table. “They have been. Doesn’t mean they weren’t involved, but…”

“It means it was not them _directly._ Certainly this man is working for one of them.”

“That’s what our analyst thinks too. And I agree.”

“Which means that either your intelligence is wrong or you have a traitor in your midst – both of which are things that fall squarely under SHIELD jurisdiction. The question of interference from another realm gifted with magic is an obvious one, and is a matter of the security of Asgard.”

“All this posturing is great and all,” Clint interrupted, shifting in his chair. “But seems to me that it’s about time we do somethin’ about it. Some of us go to Asgard – because you didn’t really think you were going to shut us out completely, did you, Loki?”

“He has a point,” Sif murmured. Loki made a sour face – stars knew why he did it, everyone knew it was an act at this point – but made a twirling gesture with his hand, indicating Clint could continue.

“Yeah, some of us go with you guys, and some of us stay here and see if there’s a leak or anything like that. To be honest, Director Fury, it wouldn’t surprise me if there was one. Better we find it quickly. Maybe between the two sides we’ll find out who’s collaborating with someone else from another… er, realm.”

“What makes you think there is?”

Clint leaned on his forearms, looking down the curve of the table at Sif. “You guys, Asgard, you’re top dog. We’re your allies and we’re coming up in the universe.” He shrugged. “Makes sense, from what I can see. I mean, if you want to have us,” and he nodded to Loki and Sif. 

“The help would be greatly appreciated,” Sif replied. She knew – or at least, she thought she knew, even after a year of marriage there were things about Loki’s mind she did not understand completely – that Loki was not at all opposed if it meant people he could show off to, but he’d needle and prod and if this was going to happen, it needed to happen fast. One did not spend days setting an ambush; by then, your quarry was likely far past you and gone. “If the device was similar to Loki’s magic, and we have missed its passing from our realms to yours with our own eyes, then perhaps fresh ones will make the difference.”

Bruce shifted in his seat but everyone else was making agreeable noises. “Everyone else like this plan?” Fury asked, and got nods from around the table. “Then pick a direction and get going.”

Tony was out of his chair and running down the corridor before anyone else could move. “Dibs on Asgard!”

*

Bruce caught up to Tony in the corridor around the quarters set aside for Avengers and others and tapped him on the arm. “There’s something I didn’t say to anyone else when we were in there,” he whispered. “Can we talk, really quick?”

Tony pulled him along the corridor to a door labeled T. STARK in military-precise lettering. Inside, every surface was covered in clothes or packets of snacks scrounged from the mess or – largely – random bits of electronics and tools used to make them, scattered everywhere. Tony sat on the bed and gestured at the desk chair. “Wait, I’ve gotta—” He pulled out his phone and tapped out a command. “Now you can talk. What’s up, bro?”

Bruce gave him a strange look. “When I was analyzing the energy readings from the robot you took out, the signature wasn’t just like Loki’s magic.”

“You did get a little weird there.”

“Yeah. Well… that’s because I ran the signature through our database and it came back as also similar to the radiation the Tesseract put out when it was active.”

“How similar are we talking here?”

“Enough to be significant. Either way, it’s more than it should be. The Tesseract’s locked up on Asgard, right?”

“Lucky Charms says it is, anyway, he took all that back with him and even before then access to that stuff was limited.”

“Exactly. Loki _says_ he’s not involved, but he’s got magic and The Tesseract and he’s a habitual liar…”

“Except his wife has him _whipped_. Sif isn’t stupid – she’d know if he was getting up to trouble.”

“Maybe. It’s just a possibility though.”

“But you might not be completely wrong.” Tony picked up some random piece of electronics and began fiddling with it, tinkering as he thought. “I’ll see if I can get eyes on the cube while I’m in Asgard. If it’s still there and hasn’t been played with…”

“I’ll look into things here while you’re gone, both inside SHIELD and with what Loki’s been doing, though I think the schedule of the King and Queen of Asgard is pretty full when they’re here.” Bruce picked up a screwdriver but just to twirl in his fingers. “I’ll talk to Dr. Foster, too. See what she has to think about this.”

“Yeah. Yeah, Jane is one of the experts on the Tesseract, and she has enough of a bone to pick with SHIELD that if we ask her to keep quiet she will.”

“Not as big a bone as you. Eavesdropping countermeasures, Tony? You really don’t trust him at all, do you?”

“I trust my suit. I trust Pepper and Rhodey. I trust you and Jane and the team. Hell, I even trust Loki and Sif, because at least one of them is up front about putting their home first and I can respect that. But Fury? I don’t trust him at all, and people who do are naïve or idiots. I get him, as much as anyone can – I get his theory. But I’d be crazy to trust him.”

They lapsed into silence for a while. They were Fury’s team, but none of them did this for Fury, and he knew it. Bruce wondered idly if it galled him.

“Better get packing,” Tony said a little too loudly. Whatever he’d been thinking, there wasn’t any trace of it on his face anymore as he turned off the screening from his phone. “And call Pepper. I’m going to another _planet_ , Bruce. How fucking cool is that?”

*

In the end it took a bit longer to get everyone going than anticipated. Tony’s suit was a problem; he hated the compact one but took it when Loki flatly refused to magic the Mark VII to Asgard with them. He did put the suit on, though, and grudgingly turned his bag of clothing over to be tucked away in whatever magical pocket of space Loki put their things in.

Steve, Bruce, and Natasha opted to stay behind. With Thor out on minimal deploys and Asgard capable of fielding its own defense, the bulk of the Avengers needed to be here. Clint was more familiar with the way things were done on Asgard, and said he wanted to see his archer buddies again. With Natasha still recovering from her wounds, it was only Steve and Bruce who escorted the others to the San Francisco Bifrost site, in front of City Hall.

“May your work bear fruit, Captain,” Sif told him as the others made their way to the intricate knotwork circle stamped permanently into the ground. “We will do our best to keep you apprised of any developments. And if my husband does not, I will see to it myself. This is a serious threat to both our realms.”

“We’ll send word ourselves if we find anything. Safe trip, ma’am.”

“Isn’t it always?” Loki murmured as Sif joined the group standing within the circle. Then light and heat engulfed them, and they were gone.

*

“My lord, they captured Dr. Von Paselk.”

A metal fist slammed down on the arm of the chair, and the man speaking immediately bowed lower. “I-It will be rectified—“

“Von Paselk is of no consequence to us. He was foolish enough to get caught… luckily, even if he divulges his secrets, the projects he was working on can still proceed without him. Move to a new location and continue; we will take no more chances. Not when we are so close.”

“As you wish, my lord.” The man – he was now the lead scientist, he would have to thank Von Paselk for the promotion sometime – turned on his heel and left back toward the lab. As near to completion as they were, their benefactor was right. Better not to take chances.


	2. Pitch

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter could also be titled "Tony no" and it would be accurate.
> 
> _pitch;_ The quality of a sound governed by the rate of vibrations producing it.

As much as he hated doing it, the Helicarrier was now flying over the middle of the country on its way back to New York City and SHIELD’s base of operations. With things as they were now, the director wanted to get back as quickly as possible and clean house, find the leaks and seal the holes against further seepage, or feed out only what he wanted. When he wanted speed overland was the best route, but even with the retroreflectors and forty-five thousand feet up, they risked being spotted via their shadow. Fury had made sure they avoided major cities and flight controls were being instructed to divert air traffic out of their path, at least. Good to know people still listened to him.

Sometimes, Fury thought, he really wished this job didn’t mean so much politics and maneuvering. But he’d known what he was getting into, and knew he had always been meant to lead one of the few groups working to defend his planet, his _home_ , from all the things in the darkness. Loki could wax poetic about that all he wanted – Fury had looked out there, too, and knew there was something looking right back. He’d do what he had to do to keep Earth safe.

“ETA to New York base is in four hours, thirteen minutes, sir.” Coulson walked up the ramp from the helm to Fury’s command station, standing with his legs slightly braced against the slight motion of the Helicarrier. “There’s a headwind slowing us down, I’m told.”

“It’ll do.” Fury stepped back, turning to call up status reports. “What’s my team doing? The ones who are still on this planet, anyway?”

“Quiet, as far as I know.” Coulson tapped his fingers on the tablet he held. “Agent Romanoff is back in the infirmary finishing up work on her injuries still—“

“Make a note to talk to Asgard about those emergency healing stones again. Not me and not to Loki – Sif is more flexible about this stuff.”

“Noted. I don’t think they’ll budge though, sir.”

“They’re _both_ a pain in my ass,” Fury muttered. “State visits that suck at my agents’ time, and then they don’t even let their security detail stick with them. The next time they sneak off so Loki can dress up and recite poetry in a coffeeshop in SoHo, I hope they get attacked by robots.” Fury ran a hand over his head. “I don’t mean that, but—“

“It’d be satisfying.”

“It would be.”

“Shouldn’t we be glad they’re getting to interact with people from Earth, sir? It could sway their opinion in our favor.”

The thought had occurred to Fury, certainly. Hearing it from one of the few people he explicitly trusted brought it back to the fore of his mind. “Has it swayed them yet?”

“Hard to say. These people are damn near immortal, sir, and even with the leaders on this planet things take time.”

“Maybe.” Fury brought up an email, scanned it, snorted. “Ambassador Lewis is _very_ upset we’ve ‘let her Asgardians go running off’.”

“They did have a busy schedule, if I remember the briefing correctly. Does she think we can stop them?”

“I doubt it. But at least they’re doing this to help us as much as themselves. The rest of my team, Coulson?”

“Captain Rogers is in the gym; Doctor Banner is in the wishbone lab. Thor is still on leave and currently in Stark Tower. Romanoff, Rogers, and Banner have all indicated they want some downtime there when we reach New York.”

“Any explanations yet for the fuzz-out in internal surveillance earlier?”

“IT is still working on it. They think it was caused by advanced jamming, but nobody agrees. They’re kind of like… squabbling… kids, sir. It’s hard to get anything concrete out of them.”

“Keep me updated, I don’t want the risk of multiple leaks _now_. And send me a shortlist of likely candidates for a team posted on the west coast. My group here is elite. We need a first response before I fly out these guys across the country, I want them held in reserve when they’re not dealing with threats on the eastern seaboard or worldwide.”

“I’ll go through our files.”

“Thanks, Coulson. And get some rack time before we hit New York again. We’ve all been flat out on this business, but now that we’ve got Von Paselk we can take a breath. You, especially, Coulson. I need you.”

“Thank you, boss.” Coulson left, and Fury finished up issuing a few more orders before leaving the command deck himself.

Maria Hill fell into step beside him after he’d made it two corridors down. If Coulson was Fury’s hand, Maria Hill was his head; he didn’t trust her as much, but she was dedicated to SHIELD and had proved herself, and Fury could respect that. Her ambition would eventually be a problem, but Fury had a few ideas on how to deal with that too. He’d been the same when he had been in her position.

“Initial damage assessments for the operation, sir,” she said, holding up her tablet so she could slide a window over onto his screen. “Legal is on alert.”

“Thank you, Agent Hill. What else?”

“Von Paselk hasn’t said much since we locked him in detention. We searched what was left of his room at the Westin and found an external hard drive. It’s nearly at capacity but the files are encrypted to destroy themselves should they be decoded improperly. I pulled a couple techs off the security issue and told them to work carefully.”

“All right.” They turned into his office. “We find out what he had on that hard drive – his most recent work, any results of what he was doing – we figure out how worried we should be about unwanted discoveries.”

“You mean Phase Two and Genie.” Hill nodded. “I”ll keep you updated, sir.”

“Keep an eye on our team, too. I want to know what they’re up to.”

Her brow furrowed. “Sir?”

“Unwanted discoveries, Hill.”

For a moment her expression was sour; Hill did not like the way he operated in some theaters, but as she was his subordinate, she could not do too much to change it. Still, she nodded in acknowledgement. “Very well, sir.”

Fury watched her until the door closed, his lips pursed in thought. The west coast team would need someone to manage them – a counterpart to his own position, in a way, though answerable to him of course. Hill needed to be tested to see if she could handle his job. The best way to make sure her ambition didn’t cause him trouble was to make her his successor, but he wouldn’t do it if she proved unable to handle the rigors of the job. He didn’t have many doubts about her ability, but it was always better to move slowly and cautiously. Rash action tended to get people killed, and Fury wanted to live a lot longer still, and see SHIELD left in good hands when he was gone.

*

“ _Woah_ ,” Tony breathed. 

The lights on the crystal bridge slowed to their normal languid pulsing as the four of them walked onto it. There were only three horses waiting a short distance away from the Observatory, and Sif cast a look back at her half-brother curiously.

“The man of iron can fly,” Heimdall replied in his low voice. “I saw no need to summon a mount for him.”

“Is this where you _live_?” Tony asked her. “It’s so _shiny_.”

“Asgard is a place of great beauty as well as great strength,” Sif told him, mounting up and taking her reins in hand. Gylfi danced under her, eager, and she patted his neck. “Are you surprised, Tony Stark?”

“I am on another planet. _Another planet._ As in _not Earth_.”

“This is no great thing for us, you realize. We travel to other realms as a matter of course.” Loki was giving Tony a very judgmental look from atop his horse, and Sif had to look away, past Clint climbing awkwardly onto his own mount to the brilliant light-lace of the Branches, to keep a laugh from bubbling past her lips. Coming home always put her in fine humor. 

“ _We_ don’t. Please tell me I can go do a loop of the city. _Please._ ”

Sif turned her smile onto him before Loki could let his tongue run off with him again. “As queen I give you permission to see our great city, Tony Stark,” she told him. Tony had shot off almost before she had finished speaking, and was little more than a bright streak in the distant sky above the buildings as the three of them took off at a gallop for the golden gates of Asgard. When they passed the golden pillars marking the edge of the city their guard fell in around them, and the thunder of their horses’ hooves echoed from building to building, bringing curious people to the edges of the terraces to wave and shout. 

Sif did her best to wave back, now; most of the ordinary people of Asgard would not see the king and queen save at a distance, and she would not see them left behind. Loki was better about it now. He did it because he enjoyed the attention, but at least Sif had learned how to direct that into things that benefited Asgard and their people over the nearly two years since they had come into power.

_That_ was a thought she was still getting used to – _their people_ , _her crown_ \- and something she contemplated often as she practiced her forms upon the training sands. That the Lady Sif should rule in Asgard had not been a future she had planned for or even anticipated, but thinking on it, she had realized it to be a natural extension. She had always wanted to protect her home, to give her life to it, and in the queenship she had her way of serving Asgard that went beyond her sword and shield to something that would endure for an age.

That was why that despite her love of her friends on Midgard, her heart always lifted when she returned _home_ to the place she had sworn upon blood and blade to protect. And whatever his motives, Loki had placed Asgard first among them for now, and that was enough for her. It was what a king ought to do.

The fluted towers of the palace rose above them and soon their horses’ shoes rang not on the crystal of the bridge, but on stone as they galloped across the broad plaza before the palace doors, slowing to a trot as they passed through the archway to the entrance level. Inside the stable courtyard, there were grooms waiting to take their horses and attendants ready to flock around them like birds. The latter descended mostly upon Loki, passing on pieces of parchment and whispered bits of news that he received with a nod and soft words here and there. Hers were no less important – the status of the Einherjar, the management of which she had taken upon herself after several arguments with Loki on the subject (it was Sif who led them and spent the most time with them, therefore it ought to be Sif who oversaw their operations – a simple enough point, she had thought, but one that Loki had stubbornly refused to concede for _days_ ), the usual matters of running the royal household which she couldn’t let fall completely to Frigga, and preparations for Thor and Jane’s upcoming wedding, to be held in a month’s time.

Loki brushed a last advisor aside and raised his hand, gold sparks erupting from his fingertips and exploding in the sky above. A few moments later Stark looped in and landed, amid cries of surprise and fascination from the crowd. He played to them just as much as her husband did at times, giving the attendants a last cocky wave as Sif and Loki made their way inside with Clint trailing after and still looking green from their trip up the Bifrost.

“How does this place _work_?” Tony asked. His suit’s metal boots were loud on the polished marble of the hallway, but he moved fairly easily. “The water falls off the edge into space but the supply up here never runs out. Some of the buildings _float_ , and the architecture here in general can best be described as _mindfuck_. Like… _how_?”

“Old magic has been wrapped around this realm. The Allfather – that is, Odin Allfather – and his fathers and brothers laid the spells about it themselves, enchantments of great and terrible power.” Sif could feel it, in a way. All Asgardians knew the feel of the Bifrost even at rest, but there were deeper and older and more powerful things surrounding Asgard that had bound themselves to her and Loki. It was almost like having a very faint second heartbeat that she could only feel when she quieted her mind let her body relax. “They say that Yggdrasil herself had a hand in the creation of Asgard and her rise to power, but just as we are myths to you, so such things are to most of us. We do not question the gifts bestowed upon us so long before our time.”

Out of the corner of her eye she could see Loki make a face, but Tony made a loud huffing noise. “Boring. I question everything.”

“You are not of Asgard,” Loki said as they reached a large atrium. Banners – the red-and-gold of the House of Odin, now framed by hers and by Loki’s now that they were both back in residence – fluttered in the slight breeze coming through the golden columns, but on a pedestal in the center of the room Gungnir did not so much as shiver, instead standing straight and tall and gleaming. Loki ascended the steps and took the spear in hand, running his fingertips along it almost affectionately. He had said he often received a sensation of power in taking it up again after an absence, as though the spear recognized him. “You cannot appreciate it as one who calls it home.”

“Darcy has no problem caring about Asgard’s business, and she’s from fucking Washington state.”

Clint snickered but Loki ignored him. “That is because Darcy Lewis recognizes her posting requires her to represent our interests on Midgard. She has taken the initiative to learn, whereas _you_ simply ask irreverent and irritating questions and become a nuisance.”

‘Can I fly under your weird flat planet and see where the water goes?”

“You can,” Loki told him with a Cheshire grin, one that earned him a reproachful look from her and caused him to redirect himself smoothly. “But I would advise against it if you have any disinclination toward spinning off into space.”

“I am certain that whatever plans are made for inquiries regarding the matter at hand, my husband can spare some time out of his exhausting, busy schedule to show you to relevant tomes in the library. Books in a language you can _read_ ,” she emphasized, and Loki sighed dramatically. “Our archives are very comprehensive, and nobody knows them better than Loki, I should think. He spent most of his formative years there.”

Loki had pressed his lips together – either holding in a laugh or a sour expression or both – and Sif gave him one of her sweeter smiles.

“Certainly I can indulge my honored guests in their search for understanding,” he said.

Tony was looking between them. “Is this like foreplay for the two of you or something? I thought it would involve more knives.”

“Whether it is or not is for us to know and you to speculate upon, Tony Stark.” Sif made a small gesture with her hand and one of the attendants waiting in the columns came over - Bothi, her mistress of the house, and one of the few people who could rival Frigga for willpower. “Show our guests, Tony Stark and Clint Barton, to guest rooms on the tenth residential level,” she said. “A room with a view, archer?”

“I’d like that, yeah.”

“Then if it is possible, Bothi.”

The woman curtsied deeply, the keys at her belt clinking softly as she did. “I will see it done, my queen,” she replied, and led the two mortals off toward one of the enchanted lifts to the upper residential areas.

“Oh, that was well done,” Loki murmured when he had teleported them back to their own rooms. “Every man and woman in the palace will know the two of them for honored guests from Midgard within the hour.”

His hands moved upward from her hips, fingertips slotting neatly against her skin in the space under her tunic and armor. A half-twist of his palm and she felt the comforting restriction of her armor vanish, and his hands continued their upward slide. Sif inhaled, long and deeply; his hands were cool, and the air cooler with it at harvest-time as it was, but it was not only the chill of the air that made her skin prickle with gooseflesh. Her own hands twisted black strands of Loki’s hair around her fingers, pulling just enough to make his eyelids flicker briefly.

“I worry more for Stark’s decorum than the deference of those in the palace,” she murmured in his ear, leaning up so her breath puffed warm over his skin, and was rewarded with a soft hiss and a full-body shiver. His blunted nails dug into her skin, a spike of pain just enough to make the coil in her belly tighten ever so much more. “Though your manners are not exactly kingly, husband. What _would_ your mother think?”

Loki tugged at the hem of her tunic and she obliged, raising her arms over her head as he spoke. “Do let’s not bring up my mother right now.” 

Sif felt the huskiness of his voice right down through her heels as the loosing of a war-cry, and though her fingers fumbled she grasped the buckles of his jacket and pulled them free, the leather and cloth sliding down his long body and vanishing before it hit the floor. Many times she had called him cheat for undressing them with magic, for she did love taking his clothes off piece by piece, making him show his patience even as she tested her own.

She trailed her fingertips down the front of him, resting them lightly on the buckle of his trousers. “I should exact promises of your very best behavior while Stark is here,” she mused, looking up through her lashes at him. “I would hate for matters here to proceed without certain assurances.”

“I have impeccable manners and do not understand what assurances you could possibly need.” His lips were on her throat, and Sif could not help the soft whine that rose, hissing between her teeth to betray her. She felt Loki grin against her neck, nails dragging down her back.

“You both become so unruly—ooh!” Sif grinned as he lifted her up, burying his face back in the hollow of her throat again. She wrapped her legs around his waist and her arms around his shoulders, nipping the outer shell of his ear less than gently as he walked them toward the bed, savoring the whine he made. “—when you are together. Like little boys.”

“With the delegation from Alfheim here—“

Sif pulled her head back sharply, pushing them apart enough so she could look her husband in the face. “Elves? What are they doing here? What-- _when were you going to tell me, Loki_?”

“In the fullness of time.” He made a tilting motion with his head. “Later. After.”

“You are _incorrigible._ Completely and utterly—what are they doing here? Do you know yet?”

“Our advisors have not had a chance to inquire. They only just arrived today, apparently, not long before we did.” Loki rubbed his thumbs along her thighs, fingers squeezing lightly. “A curious move by them, to be sure. Dinner shall be quite interesting.”

It certainly cooled her ardor for a moment – elves were devious, as tricky to deal with as Loki, and even less obvious in motive. Allies or not, she did not strictly trust them. All the more reason to enjoy the moment, she thought to herself as she bent her head again and kissed Loki, letting the warmth build until his grip on her legs was almost painful and his mouth bruising.

“I suppose we shall find out sooner or later,” she said breathlessly as he tumbled her onto the bed at last. Loki crawled over her, and she knew she ought not to like that devious look in his eye, but she could not think as clearly as usual right now.

“As to that, my lady,” and his voice was a sibilant whisper, barely audible, “I think I have an idea.”

*

The rooms they’d been shown to were across the hall from each other; inexplicably, Tony’s bag was waiting for him, but he chalked it up to freaky space Viking _whatever_ and pulled on a pair of sneakers after he’d collapsed his suit back into its case form. For a moment he debated shoving it into the furs piled on the bed, but shrugged and left it out.

Clint’s doors were closed but Tony pushed his way in and ignored the archer demanding to know _what the hell, Stark_. “Your digs are nicer than mine,” he accused.

“Yeah, well. Perks of being friendly.” Clint went back to where he was screwing arrow tips onto shafts. One carousel in his automated quiver always held some of his magical arrows, but he liked to prepare the more mundane ones when he could. 

“I’m so friendly already.” Tony pulled out an arrow that Clint had already slipped back into place, ignored his indignant look, and held it up to examine it. “Did you feel like a museum piece last time you were here?”

“We were fighting a war last time I was here. Put that back.”

“Make me, Merida.” Tony rolled the shaft between his fingertips, mind whirling. He’d offered Clint shafts made of stronger, lighter material, but the archer had shot one and muttered so darkly about balance and resistances that Tony had taken the hint for once and made a tactical retreat. “I haven’t been so closely scrutinized since my last colonoscopy, and we weren’t even in the main part of the palace or around that many people.”

“ _Gross_. You’re a mere mortal, they’re gonna stare. Don’t tell me you’re not used to it.”

The banter was comfortable, easy for him. It helped settle his mind from the litany _You are the alien here and everyone is staring at you and judging you and you can’t just brush it off this time._ “Not from aliens. What does this tip do, anyway?”

“You’ll find out if you don’t fucking put it back.”

“Touchy, _touchy_.” Tony put it back even so, and Clint adjusted the shaft imperceptibly before continuing on with what he’d been doing. “You’re all cranky lately. Did you miss a target?”

“I never miss, Stark.”

“Maybe not with one of these.” Stark tapped one of the arrows. “Your moping is of a different variety completely, one I know well. Love is a moving target—“

“I am _not_ listening to Stark Brand dating advice.”

“Look, I’m just saying—“

“ _Nothing_ , because this is none of your business.”

“So it _is_ a lady.” At Clint’s glare, Tony spread his hands. “Or a man. I’m not picky and I’m cool if you aren’t either. Just… who is it? Romanoff?”

“ _Hell_ no.”

“Probably for the best. Sif?”

“Also a hell no on the dating scale.”

“Considering both her and her husband could take you apart, that’d end too dangerous even for a reckless, thrill-seeking playboy like me. Wise.”

“If you want to talk dangerous situations, though…” Clint put his arrows aside and leaned forward, elbows on knees. “Somethin’ about all this smell fishy to you? On both sides, not just here and not just back home. We’re not being told all that’s going on.”

“We work with two of the sneakiest men alive.” Tony shrugged. “But you’re not the only one to get a bad feeling about this, Obi-Wan. Between Fury and Loki we’re being kept in the dark, and I don’t like being someone else’s toy. But there’s something Fury _doesn’t_ know, and—“

“My lords, if I may?”

Tony snapped his mouth shut and turned. “Yes, Alfred?”

“My name is Hilde, my lord.” The woman continued on, though she gave Tony a curious look. “You are being invited to tonight’s dinner with the court. There are visiting guests – dignitaries from Alfheim – and I have been asked by the king and queen to see you are both properly attired.”

“You’re going to make us clothes? For tonight?” Tony gave a pointed look at the balcony, where the light was past its zenith and beginning to dim.

Hilde smiled. “I am one of the royal couturiers, my lord, and once made a frock for the queen in an hour’s time, and all present thought it the work of a hundred days. You have clothiers on Midgard, and I have been shown their skill and innovation, and their designs are truly remarkable. But you have not seen _my_ work.”

Clint stood, packing away his bow. “I’m sold.”

“What, really? You’re going to let her play Asgardian dress-up with you? Now I _gotta_ do it.”

“Every play’s got its costumes. And I think that isn’t the only reason Sif and Loki—er, sorry, Hilde—“ he said quickly, for the couturier had suddenly looked scandalized, “I mean, the king and queen don’t just want us to look presentable.”

“You are very perceptive,” Hilde replied. “The king indicated he would be along after initial fittings to tell you more, but if you will follow me now?”

The experience wasn’t so unpleasant, really; after being draped with fabrics and jabbed with pins, Tony was excused to the circle of couches in the entry chamber. He was joined a few moments later by Clint, who was rubbing his arms and scowling.

“I feel like one of my targets _looks_ after practice,” he muttered, throwing himself onto the couch across from Tony.

“Empathy for your victims is supposed to be a thing.” Tony reclined, kicking his feet up onto the plush cushion. “So, what is it you _perceived_ that made you want to come here anyway?”

Clint pressed his thumb to a spot of bright red on his forearm and hummed. They were alone in the entryway; the workshop was divided from them behind a curtain, and they could only vaguely hear the sounds inside, the rustle of fabrics and the murmuring of the couturiers. “It’s more obvious when you think about how they’re dressing us,” he said. “We’re going to draw attention.”

“Barton,” Tony said patiently, “I do that _anyway_. Why do all this?”

“Think about if… I dunno, if Loki put on normal clothes and walked around. He’d draw attention, yeah?” Clint shrugged. “Same idea. We’ll be in Asgardian clothing, but we’ll stand out even more for it. They want the attention to be on us.”

“Very good, Agent Barton.” Both men looked up to see Loki sauntering in, adjusting the shoulders of his overcoat. “I do hope neither of you mind being decoys.”

“I don’t like being a decoy,” Tony muttered, peering at him. “Did you just get laid? You have a glow.”

“If it were your business, Tony Stark, you would know.” Loki nudged the curtain aside slightly, looking into the workshop; through the gap, they could see everyone had stopped what they were doing to make their manners. “I have another task in mind as well, however. You are not just drawing eyes, you are listening. Whatever our alliances, the court and most of the other realms think you but children, and they may say more in your presence than they would in ours.”

“So we’re doing your spy work for you.” Loki made a dismissive gesture, a roll of his shoulders. Barton leaned back, looking at him. “That’s not it, is it?”

The speculative expression that crossed Loki’s face when Clint said that made the archer deeply uncomfortable; it was like he was being measured, scrutinized even more closely. When it was Loki doing that, he didn’t like it. “You truly are perceptive,” he said at last. “There will be elves present tonight.”

“Elves? Legitimate elves?”

“Light ones, yes. Dark elves would be a much greater problem, and your costume would not be made of silk. You, I think, will be of particular interest to them, Tony Stark. There will be more information waiting in your rooms, and I do suggest you read it.”

“I can handle elves. Do you always use your houseguests as spies?”

“Is that what you think you are?” Loki smiled one of his not-smiles, a politician’s grin. “Well, if it helps quantify things for you.”

He left again, and Tony crossed his arms, watching until Loki and his guard had disappeared. 

“Do you think he was taking about us as his houseguests, or us as his spies?” he mused.

*

The delegation from Alfheim had chosen a good time to arrive; tonight was a feast in honor of the end of the harvest, and the changing of the seasons. It had been a productive year for the realm and its colonies, and when they had gone through to give their approval for the night’s arrangements, the feasting tables had been groaning under the weight of the food the kitchens had prepared. Traditionally this festival also celebrated the release of new mead, and tables around the hall had been laid with samples of all kinds, along with the usual assortment of other drinks. A minor festival, really, but the palace never did anything by halves. Especially not when there were elves around to see it.

“This is a _terrible_ idea, Loki,” Sif whispered as they made their way down from their chambers. Her skirts whispered over the floor, and unconsciously Sif tugged at the slanting, heavily beaded neckline. Designs in oranges and golds crossed her chest from side to shoulder, like the feathers of a bird spread out in flight. Or like flame, perhaps. Best to remind the elves that Asgard’s fire could be banked but never extinguished, and that it could consume as well as create. _And if they say the realms were created in ice, that is what we have Loki for._

Of course, all that would be useless if her husband’s ill-conceived plan bore them no fruit but enmity for lack of trust. Naturally Loki was completely confident this wouldn’t happen.

“It’s a _fantastic_ idea. I am surprised, Sif, I thought you had come to appreciate my subtle ways.”

“When they _work_. And when they don’t, they offer insult to our guests and allies - _both_ sets.”

“Are you saying you think my brilliant plan to get everything something they want, while benefitting ourselves the most, is not going to work? You wound me, wife.”

“You are not wounded at all, husband.” Loki shrugged, and Sif made a sound of annoyance, gripping his arm a little more tightly than was necessary as they descended a set of stairs. “And it is my duty to protect our realm. We do not need difficulties with Alfheim right now, not on top of this conflict with Jotunheim.”

“Alfheim has mages who can walk Yggdrasil’s branches. All I am doing is making subtle inquiries so in later discussions on the matter, I can be well informed.”

Sif glared at him out of the corner of her eye as they approached the feasting hall. It _was_ a good plan, truly, and as they’d discussed while stretched out amid their furs they’d neither of them missed the idea that Fury was using Barton or Stark or both to gather information for himself, so this took care of that matter at the same time. “And our friends still feel part of our investigation, while we find out if any elves had made new friends among the Frost Giants.”

“Precisely. It could keep them from learning things they are… not meant to.”

“We will all end up in Jotunheim eventually, Loki.” Her voice had softened, though, just a bit. Her sympathy often wore thin on the subject of her husband’s struggles with his parentage, seeing as how it was often an impediment to other matters, but she could understand the difficulties of trying to fit into places that weren’t meant to accommodate anyone outside the mold. “Best prepare for the notion.”

They quieted as they approached the golden double doors leading into the hall. From within, a swell of voices and soft music reached their ears, and both of them took the opportunity to adjust their clothing, examine their appearances. Sif tugged her dress one last time while silently offering a prayer to Yggdrasil that it would stay put, and adjusted her crown upon her head. Her fingertips slid over the cool metal, the vanes of the wings, the subtle suggestions of feathers, the glittering gems of the eyes. It was still a heavy thing to bear, but Sif thought if it ever became light, it was time to put the crown aside.

“You do look lovely,” Loki murmured beside her, and Sif glanced through her lashes at his profile.

“You needn’t flatter me so, husband,” she replied quietly. “I have already wed you.”

“I thought an exercise in honesty was important.” He offered his arm, and Sif tucked her fingers against his elbow. “Shall we?”

The doors swung open and they walked in, heads turning to watch as they passed, smiles and bows and curtsies following them. More of it was genuine, far more than had been the case in the early uncertain days of their rule. If the people did not accept Loki’s methods, they appreciated the results, and Asgard was prospering under his leadership. It was a fact he seemed inordinately proud of (if the smug look on his face right now was any indication) and one that Sif had no qualms letting him be proud of.

They reached the center of the hall and the music paused. “Honored guests, members of the court,” Loki said, his voice carrying through the hall, “Let the mead flow freely tonight, giving thanks to Mother Yggdrasil, from whom all things come and to whom all things will one day return.”

An appropriate toast was made, and with the traditional opening of the feast completed, conversation resumed. Loki nudged Sif and she let herself be taken over to one of the mead tables. They perused the selection, which was large; in the end she took an Acerglyn brew for herself, while Loki ended up with a morat, to which he’d always been partial. The brewer received an approving nod after his first sip, and she in turn curtsied properly low.

“We should obtain a supply of this from her,” Loki murmured.

“Because it is good mead, or because she showed what you deem proper deference?”

“I can appreciate good mead and loyal subjects both.”

“Your ego will surely be the death of us all.” She took another sip of her mead, surveying the hall. “Have the elves not arrived yet?”

Edwick sidled over to them from where he’d been hovering nearby. “They just left their rooms, they will be here momentarily, my queen,” he said. “Nobody has been able to find out what they want yet.”

“I am sure we shall discover that presently,” Loki replied. As the doors swung open again, he straightened, pushing his chest out under his ceremonial armor. Had she not been apprehensive herself, Sif would have laughed at his posturing, but she laid her hand upon his arm and watched as the elves entered the room.

*

Clint Barton had seen a _lot_ of Really Weird Shit in his time working for SHIELD. In fact, he was pretty sure that the job required the ability to deal with Really Weird Shit and not have it take away from your effectiveness in the mission, and that was even _before_ they’d gotten mixed up with aliens and other planets and the truly bizarre things that had happened since Thor had been flying through space and hit Earth, or whatever.

So when they’d come here and agreed to be spies, or circus attractions, whichever (it didn’t matter at this point), Clint had been so numb to any surprise at all that his reaction had been _how hard could it be?_

Elves, Clint realized as the group of new aliens walked in, were above and beyond the weirdest shit he’d seen. The image he’d had in his mind had been kind of like Elrond out of Lord of the Rings, willowy and oddly dressed but basically humans with pointy ears. _These_ elves were certainly human _like_ ; they had the same number of limbs and features, and their clothing was very flowing and obviously ceremonial. But the biggest thing was that they were easily a foot taller than the tallest Asgardian here, and Clint hadn’t seen anyone under five-ten in Asgard, _ever_. Most of the men and women were six feet tall or better. But the elves towered over them and looked… stretched, somehow. It reminded him of an early episode of The X-Files, the one about the guy who could fit through vents…

_Focus, Barton. You’re wandering._ He’d hung back, picked up a flagon of mead but hadn’t sipped more than twice. Fury had come in while he was packing to leave for Asgard and had said to collect as much intel as he could, and Clint needed his faculties if he was gonna do that.

“I hope you have felt welcome in our halls,” Loki was saying. The ambient light (it seemed to come from the walls of the palace itself) glittered off his armor, and caught in the beads decorating Sif’s gown. They looked impressive, even with Monstro Elf before them. “Alfheim and Asgard are closest of the realms of light, and ours is an old alliance.”

“May it remain until the end of days,” the elf in front replied. His voice was raspy and melodious, and when he smiled Clint saw the gleam of pointed teeth. _Jesus._

“That would greatly please the realm. But here – there is feasting and drink laid out for you.”

“Asgard knows how to welcome its guests. And I have yet to meet your lady wife, though all have heard of the valiant Lady Sif, foremost of Asgard’s warriors, of course. How do you find queenship, my lady?”

Whatever her preferences, Sif could have been a politician herself. “A battlefield all its own. Shall I tell you of it?”

“It would be my honor to hear. Surely your husband can spare you for a time? We have brought sorcerers, and doubtless he will wish to speak with them.”

“If my lady allows.”

Clint watched as the little meeting broke apart. _Elves_ , he thought, and took a sip of his mead. Tonight was going to be really, _really_ interesting.

*

“Dr. Banner?”

Bruce looked up from his console. He’d learned a lot from Tony since they’d started working together; his fingers darted across the screen seemingly at random, but closed windows analyzing the Tesseract-like gamma output they’d detected coming from Von Paselk’s device. “What is it, Steve?”

The other man edged into the lab room; like Thor, he always seemed too big for his surroundings indoors. At least he’d left off the uniform and was wearing khakis and a button-down shirt. “Just wanted to check up on you, see how you were doing.”

“I’m fine. I was just comms and logistics, after all.”

“Still.” Steve leaned on one of the lab benches. “I heard you were analyzing energy signatures?”

It occurred to Bruce that, given his very personal experiences with it, Steve might be good to bring in to the loop on this Tesseract thing. Tony would raise a fuss, and it was true Steve seemed to trust Fury more than they did, but he was part of the team. If they couldn’t trust each other, how could they work together? Then again, when it came to SHIELD, maybe a little paranoia was only par for the course.

“Yeah. I’ve been wondering if it’s the kind of thing we might be able to trace, it’s pretty unique.”

“Any luck with that?”

“Just from what I’ve been able to analyze so far? Not particularly.” Bruce tapped a couple icons and brought up a display near Steve. “I think once we narrow it down to the level of cities, we might be able to get some use out of the… I don’t know what Tony’s calling it now. The magical detector. But we’ll need to _get_ to that level first, and unfortunately without the device to analyze…”

“You can’t be sure.”

“I’m pretty confident I can work with what I have, but I’d be more comfortable if I had more data. Has our guest said anything?”

“Not yet. He’ll be transferred to another SHIELD facility when we’re back in New York, which should be… a couple hours from now, actually.”

“It’s just that some of these readings are pretty odd, and anything I can learn about them or what he was working on when he created this thing will be really helpful.”

“I might be able to help you out there.” Steve pushed off the lab bench, walking back over to the door. “Let me get back to you on that, though.”

“Thanks.”

“Don’t mention it. I take care of my team.” For a moment, a look of sadness passed over Steve’s face, and Bruce was struck by the fact that Steve had lost a lot of his friends through war, and regarded the rest of the Avengers as something similar. Maybe not men and women directly under his command, but they all looked to him anyway. He felt responsible.

“It’ll help,” he said again. “If this is magic stuff, we need to move quickly, because I don’t think anyone wants this kind of knowledge just kicking around out there.”

“I know.” Steve shook his head. “Sometimes I think Asgard’s right about keeping this kind of thing out of our hands. Whenever it pops up, it’s always bad news.”

*

Those words kicked around in Bruce’s mind the rest of the trip back and into dinner, as the skies darkened into an early fall night. He sat in the mess with a paper on gamma radiation pulled up on his StarkPad, but he hadn’t done more than scan the title. His mind was elsewhere, drifting between hypotheses as he boarded a helicopter with Steve and Natasha and went back to Stark Tower.

Pepper Potts was waiting for them just inside the glass doors leading from the helicopter pad. Her very correct and corporate business suit was neatly pressed, her heels polished, and she had her briefcase in one hand and her phone in the other as the three of them made their way inside.

“I’m sorry,” she was saying, “But we’re going to have to move it. Mr. Stark is on an extended—“ her voice grew coolly polite suddenly. “I’ll just have him call your office when he returns. I’m sure that will work much better. Yes, thank you. Goodbye.” She hung up and sighed. “Made _me_ CEO and I still run most of his life. Come in, please, there’s pizza and cheese twists on the table and I’m starving, but I would _really_ like to hear about whatever it is that sent my boyfriend to _another planet_.”

There was enough frost in her voice that the three of them exchanged looks as they continued downstairs to the common living area. Luckily they were saved just as they reached it by the sight of Thor bounding up the steps into the room, a cloth-swaddled bundle in his arms.

“JARVIS informed me there was a meal laid—pizza!” He lit up.

“No Jane?” Bruce asked.

“She is at Culver giving a presentation on her work. So Lena is with me until she returns later tonight, is that not so, little one?” Thor beamed at his daughter as he loaded a plate with more pizza than any one person had any right to eat. “She tried to crawl today and nearly fell down the stairs, yet she was not disheartened by it. We have had a fine day.”

Steve looked as though he was trying very hard not to laugh. “That’s lovely, Thor,” Pepper told him as she walked back into the room, now in loose pants and a shirt. “She’s growing fast.” Thor beamed and pried Lena’s fingers out of his food.

When they were all seated, Pepper looked at each of them in turn; with the exception of Natasha, who kept eating steadily, they all looked away. “So Tony called me earlier,” she said at last. “While I was in a meeting, of course. Left the _damnedest_ message saying, and I quote, that he was going to another planet and not to leave the light on for him. Now, we’ve never really been in this situation before, but I’m just curious – was it _really_ necessary for him to go to Asgard?”

Thor broke the silence. “Tony Stark went to Asgard?” he asked. “For what purpose?”

“It came out of our mission this morning,” Bruce replied slowly. “I’m… not sure how much…”

“Just tell her,” Natasha said. “She’d find out one way or the other. I’ll work it out with the director if he’s upset about it.”

“Thank you, Natasha.” Pepper turned a very steady look on Bruce. “Please, go on and explain why Tony just blew his appointment calendar for who knows how long.”

“Uh… well…” Bruce explained it as best he could, with Steve or Natasha occasionally adding something. “I’m sure he’ll come back,” he said when he’d finished. “I don’t think he’d permanently relocate or anything, his home is here.”

“Damn right it is,” Pepper muttered to her food, but she seemed to have relaxed with the telling, or at least resolved to yell at Tony directly about it. “It must have been important, though. Sif was telling me they had a full schedule for their trip.”

“They don’t want magic loose when we’re not ready to handle it.”

“That would be a grave thing.” Thor shifted Lena in his lap and she made a cooing, thoughtful noise, as though agreeing. He stroked her hair gently. “I do not mean this as any attack upon your skills or intelligence, my friends, but…”

“We aren’t ready for magic.” Steve shrugged. “Most of the time, I agree with you completely. We aren’t.”

“Magic is dangerous. Loki did master it after centuries of work, but he had several mishaps along the way that nearly claimed his life.” Thor drew in a breath. “I will discuss this matter with Jane, but I feel it is important I help you as much as I can. This encompasses both my realms, and I would do my part in serving them.”

“I think we all need a night off,” Bruce said, when everyone had been eating in silence for a few minutes. “I’ve got a couple things I want to run through in the lab, and I have a feeling we’ll be wanting for down time soon.”

“Sounds good to me,” Natasha agreed. “Rogers?”

“I’m with you both.”

Pepper smiled a little. “It’ll be good to have you guys around here again,” she said. “Though it’s always too quiet without Tony. Wonder how he likes Asgard?”

*

Tony picked up his second flagon of mead and took a careful sip. The first one he’d tried, he’d just knocked half of it back at once, and it had nearly knocked him on his ass. He didn’t want to be under the table with the night barely started.

God knew he needed a drink too, after meeting the elves. Not only were they straight _freaky_ , they seemed to regard him as even more of a curiosity than the Asgardians did. Tony loved to be stared at and loved being the center of attention, sure, but the elves liked to touch, and that really wasn’t okay. 

Their skin felt like the surfaces of leaves, and up close – _way too close_ \- they smelled of leaf litter and earthy richness overlaying the cloying decay of the forest. Uniformly tall, with skin of every shade from dark ebony to pale ash, elves were nothing Tony felt at all equipped to deal with. He and Clint had agreed to stay apart as much as possible, but even as he took another sip from his mead and sauntered over to the nearest elf he hadn’t talked to yet, thoughts of _I want a wingman_ and _Why didn’t I invite Pepper or Rhodey_ filled his mind.

“You are one of the king’s little mortals,” the elf said by way of greeting. “The man of iron.”

Tony made a mental note to rip apart at least one future theory of Loki’s devising. He wasn’t anyone’s pet. “Between you and me, it’s just Tony Stark. Great party, huh? _Great_ drinks.”

“Asgard is known for its mead, certainly. But have you ever tasted a sweet white wine, one from the foremost of Alfheim’s pleasure moons? They make even the most finely crafted mead pale in comparison.”

“Can’t say I’ve had the chance. First trip to an alien planet, figure I’ll pace myself. _Have_ heard of pleasure moons though.” Maybe he’d take Pepper. Maybe he’d _buy_ one for Pepper, she’d probably be pissed after he just ran off. He could hear her ranting in his head - _what do you think I’d do with a moon, Tony, honestly_...

“You have? Oh, that _is_ good, you are not completely ignorant of the wider universe.” The elf smiled, and Tony hid his horrified expression in a sip of his drink. _Fangs_? What the fuck? 

“Yeah, well, when your bestie is the king here, you pick up a few things.”

“One would assume.”

“Haven’t picked up your name yet, though.”

“I have not given it yet.” The elf inclined his head slightly, though Tony didn’t think it was in any sort of respect. “I am called Armod, of the Snowy Pines.”

“Totally my first guess.” Tony caught a whiff of pine and the sharp chill of mountain air, and then Armod was touching his cheek, his brow. The elf’s fingertips were very cool. “Is this how you guys say hello, or something?” Tony asked. “I’ve been pawed at by every elf I’ve said three words to.”

“It is our way.” Armod smiled – luckily without so many teeth this time – and rested cool fingers on Tony’s jaw. “Elves are very tactile. It is part of being close to growing things, close to the earth.”

“You’re _tall_ ,” Tony mumbled. “You’re _so_ far from any earth that statement doesn’t even make sense.”

“Trees are tall, yet they and the earth are one.” The scent of pines again, moonlight on snow. Wait, that wasn’t even a _smell._ “Are they not?” 

Tony felt fuzzy, somehow. Was it the mead? “Only when they’re old.”

“Alfheim is lower on the branches of the tree than Asgard, and yet above it in so many other ways. How is it you find it so implausible for an elf to feel close to low things?”

“Not implausible,” Tony said. “Just weird. Nothing is impossible or implausible, not to me.” Armod’s hand had drifted lower, toying with the gold-embroidered collar of Tony’s tunic. “And how can a planet be higher and lower when its position is all but fixed? Does anything about this place not break physics?”

“You think like a mortal.” Armod’s laugh was soft but cut easily through the noise of the hall; it sent a chill through him, made him feel invigorated. “Physical limitations do not apply to every situation, Tony Stark. Even if your understanding of such things was not woefully incomplete, you could not comprehend the primacy of our realm. Perhaps because you will not let yourself comprehend it – you fight against magic so much even when you are wrapped in it.”

“I dunno.” The flagon of mead in his hand was empty. When had he finished it? For that matter, when had they moved out of the main crowd? They were off to one side now, by one of the gold columns draped in green cloth that bounded the hall. He didn’t remember walking over here. “I’m a quick learner, though. Teach me.”

“I didn’t think you a politician.” The fingers were on his face again, an odd pressure building in the back of his head. It felt good, though, and Armod’s fingers felt good, soothing, like when Pepper stroked his face and hair…

“Who is Pepper?”

“There you are!”

After the elf’s caresses, Loki grabbing his arm in a vise-like grip brought back lucidity and clarity. The pine and moonlight scents faded suddenly. Armod was still smiling, but there was something dangerous in it, and his teeth were visible again. “Had I know you sought him, Your Majesty, I would not have engaged him in the scintillating conversation we were just having.”

“And I do beg your, ah, forgiveness in this,” Loki replied, smiling far too broadly for Tony to trust. “But I fear my friend has overestimated his ability to handle our mead, or underestimated its potency, or both.”

“He seems quite able, actually.” Armod was giving Tony a measuring look. It made him squirm, so he crossed his eyes and grabbed at one of the slotted pieces of Loki’s ceremonial armor, staggering a little. Loki’s smile froze in place as he pried Tony’s fingers off his armor.

“Midgard’s denizens can be extremely deceptive,” he explained. “Let me see to his well-being, and if he is recovered later on in the night you may speak to him again if he wishes.” Without waiting for a reply, he pulled Tony away toward one of the tables that bore goblets of water and chilled juice.

“What the hell was that?” Tony asked. He still felt unstable.

“ _That_ ,” Loki said, handing Tony one of the goblets of water, “Was me rescuing you from becoming an elf’s paramour for the night – I believe the term _you_ would use is ‘one-night stand’ as vulgar as that is.”

“That guy was trying to _pick me up_?”

Loki smirked at him. “Oh, he wasn’t trying. Drink, it will help rid your mind of the effects of their peculiar brand of temporary courtship.”

“You sound like you’ve done this before.”

“That is not important at this point in time. While I desire information out of this little exercise, I obviously cannot condone any dishonor you might incur against your lady.”

“I wouldn’t have _slept_ with him. And I think I was getting somewhere!”

“Other than befuddled?”

“You’re an asshole.”

“So I have been told.”

“Whatever.” Tony took a sip of the water, then a longer drink when he could almost feel his head clear. “Put me back in, coach. Ain’t afraid of Legolas or Drizzt or any elf.”

Loki waved a hand. “So be it. But I shan’t rescue you again, and if you awake in the sweet embrace of an elf lord or lady, on your own head be it.”

As the king walked away, Tony realized that he hadn’t just intervened for the sake of maintaining good relations with Earth – after all, a couple indiscretions would probably be overlooked, especially since it seemed as though this wasn’t an uncommon thing to happen at these parties. Loki had done it because they were friends, or as close to friends as he got with anyone who he hadn’t grown up with for a thousand years… but he’d also done it because it made Tony a hot commodity among the elves, for they all seemed to flutter past him throughout the rest of the night, wanting to meet this mortal that the king of the realm would risk an interplanetary incident to aid.

_Sneaky little bastard_ , Tony thought. But he was wise now – he only drank water the rest of the night, no matter how many times he was plied with mead by Asgardian and elf alike, he asked the right questions in the right ways, and he never, _ever_ sniffed the elves.

Clint drifted over as the party reached its height and people began to drift out of the hall. “How’s it going?” he asked.

“Peachy keen. I’m apparently hot stuff on multiple planets.”

“Yeah, a real gift to the universe.”

“So what do your elf-eyes see, Legolas?”

“Was that really necessary, Stark?” But Clint looked tense, and that made Tony worried, because when the master assassin was tense, things were bound to get ugly sooner or later. “I’ll tell you after we blow this party.”

He drifted off again, and Tony watched as Loki and Sif continued to make their social rounds. Loki had his hand on his wife’s back as they talked to some elf that looked very important, and Tony snorted into his water. When it came to pretending to be aloof about each other, they were about as successful at hiding it as Tony was at being subtle, _period_.

Out of the corner of his eye he saw another group coming over to him and put on his most charming smile, doing his best to keep Clint’s worrying reactions out of his mind.

*

“So.”

Clint perched himself on one of the overlarge benches around the fire-pit and wrapped his arms around his legs. “How long did it take you to leave so you could come back alone?”

“To be honest, I’m still worried that creepy one will be waiting for me when I go to bed.”

“They were _all_ creepy.”

“Only one tried to magically roofie me. Not the point, though - _you_ , my hawkeyed friend, were a party pooper. Almost as bad as Rhodey.”

“I was just doing my job. Notice anything interesting about the elves?”

“A few things.” Seriousness lay heavily upon Tony’s face. “But tell me what you noticed. It’s probably the same.”

“Every one of the elves considers Asgard beneath them. Odd position for an ally to have, yeah?”

“Yeah. And the Asgardians are uniformly cautious of them. But none of that was said.”

“It was all body language and reactions. And I overheard something that I _know_ the Asgardians won’t like when they find out - _if_ they find out. Apparently, a faction of elves has a new trading partner. Guess who?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note; Fury's jab about Sif and Loki sneaking off to recite poetry is part of my thought that Loki discovered indie coffee shops and hipsters and thought it was the Greatest Thing ever, and then Ammay [wrote me a fic about it.](http://brodinsons.dreamwidth.org/1748.html#cutid1)


	3. Bremsstrahlung

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for this having taken so long; life kind of got in the way for a while and all that, but it's here! Now that this chapter is finally out and done, hopefully the next ones will come more easily.
> 
>  _bremsstrahlung_ ; translated as 'braking radiation', bremsstrahlung is electromagnetic radiation produced by the deceleration of a charged particle when deflected by another charged particle.

“ _Jotunheim._ ”

Morning made it pleasantly cool the palace; Sif was on one couch, seeing to the care of her blades, while Loki had risen to pace as Clint and Tony relayed what they had heard. Sif watched him out of the corners of her eyes.

“That’s what they were saying,” Clint replied. “Quietly, but they weren’t exactly being secretive.”

“You’re not surprised.” Tony was watching Loki, eyes narrowed slightly in thought. “You knew these guys had something to do with it all.”

Sif spoke up when it became clear Loki was too lost in his thoughts, or didn’t want to answer. “The device that man used on me had Jotunheim’s magic laced inside it. That realm has no means of transporting itself, however, and so we suspected the elves – or at least a small group of elves – has been aiding them, or acting as a messenger and courier between Jotunheim and Midgard. Not all elves are sympathetic to Asgard.”

“Betimes it is difficult to remember _any_ of them are allies,” Loki muttered. “The Allfather took the Casket from Jotunheim and locked it in the Vault for a reason, and these traitors would see monsters released upon the world again.”

Sif rolled her eyes. She could tell him she could care less about his true parentage until she was blue in the face herself, it never seemed to sink into his selectively thick head for more than a few moments. Whenever he made these kinds of comments she became wary and worried, though she kept such things to herself. They usually passed, or at least Loki pretended they did.

“The elves have their own ways of moving between realms that do not require the Bifrost, and most of them are hidden from Heimdall’s sight,” she said. “With Jotunheim’s own means taken from them and all other realms quiet or under watch, Alfheim is the only remaining option without looking at more unlikely possibilities.”

“Here’s a thought though, has anyone checked to see if this thing you’ve stolen—“

“Won—“

“—is still in that vault?”

Sif quelled her irritation – the nerve of a mortal, even a close friend such as Tony, to ask such a thing! – and shrugged. “There is no reason to think it is not, but if it will move us forward, I will show you as much.” She rose, setting her weaponry aside on its stand, glancing over her shoulder at Loki as she did. “Will you accompany us, husband?”

She knew he would not even as she asked. Aside from reinforcing the spells protecting the Vault, Loki refused to have anything to do with it now that the Tesseract and all of Midgard’s knowledge pertaining to it were locked away inside. She could hardly blame him – she had seen his face when it had nearly ensnared him, but she grew concerned over his aversion. Loki tended to avoid talking or thinking or challenging things that he disliked.

Loki pursed his lips and turned away slightly. “We both have more important things to do.”

“That was not the question, Loki.” Sif met his eyes, and after a moment, he looked away. 

“Are you coming later to the meeting with Alfheim’s delegation?”

“I would not leave my king to fight his battles alone.”

“Then later.”

Sif lifted her chin and strode past him to the door, casting a glance back toward Tony and Clint. “Come or stay, but do not dawdle. It is a long walk.”

The Vault was not a place anyone went without a very great purpose. The guards snapped to attention as she passed, doubly loyal to commander and crown. Sif nodded to each one, speaking their names and a short greeting; it was a good idea for a leader to maintain her relations with her troops, even if the duty they were posted to seemed an onerous one. In truth, Sif thought this task was one that needed some of the best guards. Not only would enemies seek to get _in_ , Sif did not trust some of the things in the Vault not to attempt to get _out_.

“In being shown this place, as mortals and neither citizen nor ward of Asgard, you are being afforded a great honor,” she told them as they descended the unsettling stairs from the last guard station to the vault itself; the stairs appeared to float in space, the Vault suspended in a light-studded chamber hollowed out of Asgard’s bedrock. “It is protected by our most powerful magic and our most formidable guardian. Any one of the objects in this place has the capability of destroying realms, and it is said some could bring about Ragnarok itself. Try not to touch anything.”

Magic as old as the stars prickled along her spine as she stepped across the threshold. Sif paused, let the enchantments recognize her and understand her will. Behind her, Tony and Clint swore quietly as the wards touched each of them in turn and withdrew.

“What was _that_?” Clint whispered. His voice echoed in the Vault.

“A guard spell. If you had entered without permission, you would have triggered the defenses of the Vault, and it would not have been pleasant for you.”

“So this is the Asgardian Gringotts.” Tony lagged behind, examining a gauntlet with six glowing gems set in it. “Makes me wonder why you need all the security you have, if you can just magic up an Intent-O-Meter.”

“Magic can always be undone, Tony Stark. Some things just take longer to unravel.” Sif led them to the very end of the Vault, where there were now two plinths before the glowing latticework that lit the Vault. “There,” she said. “The Casket of Ancient Winters.”

Tony sauntered up to it. The box glowed vibrantly blue-green, the inside of it roiling stormclouds behind the strange carvings. It seemed innocent as it had ever been, though Sif did wonder about keeping it so close to the Tesseract. It was on the other plinth, glowing somewhat more dimly than when it had been awake. Loki had said that it would take an age to regenerate, but Sif did not trust that to remain true when the thing had a will of its own.

Stark had reached out to the Casket while she had stood by ruminating, and held his hand a few inches away from its surface. “The air’s freezing cold around it,” he said.

“It is said to contain the fury of Jotunheim’s fiercest winter storms.”

Tony circled the plinth, face twisted in thought. “How do you open it?”

“What?”

“Boxes usually open, right?”

“That’s probably a Loki question, Stark,” Clint said from beside her. He was eyeing the Tesseract too. “We’ve seen that it’s still here, nobody’s stolen it. Can we go? This place gives me the creeps.”

“Don’t be such a chicken, it’s just a shiny curio cabinet. How does anyone even touch this thing without getting frostbite?”

“Carefully.” Sif pursed her lips, but her thoughts had turned to months ago, when Loki had shown her his skin. He had looked at his blue hands with repugnance, hating their color and the tracery of blue-white lines upon them. She had taken his hands and held them to her cheeks then, to show she was not afraid of his true self (and why should she have been, for Loki was Loki no matter what he looked like and was she not the fiercest of Asgard’s warriors); she had taken his hands again in the snows of Midgard, and she would continue to do so, for the Lady Sif was steadfast in her loyalty and her affection even if the constant revisiting made her want to take her husband by the shoulders and shake sense into him.

Tony straightened and brushed past them both, sauntering back across the polished floor. “Okay, I can’t touch it or play with it to see how it works. We’re done here.”

No one made any comment about the speed of their steps; the room had them, and despite that it was the most protected place in the realm, Sif could not help but watch the doors close behind them, watching the blue glimmer of the Tesseract until it was gone.

*

“So neither of the glowy boxes were used to move things to places they shouldn’t have been.”

“That is the _least_ specific sentence I have ever heard.” Tony rolled a grape over his fingers again; he’d pulled it off the bunch half an hour ago, and it was starting to look withered. “But it’s accurate. I got readings off the Tesseract and uploaded them to my suit’s memory. As soon as we’re back on Earth, we’ll be able to analyze it, but the thing looks dormant.”

“At least we know what it’s _not_.” Clint sighed and ran his hands through his hair. “So we’re staying?”

“Of course we’re staying, Oliver.” Tony flicked his thumb and sent the grape spinning into the hearth. “I haven’t figured out where the water goes yet.”

*

The palace servants had hung gauzy curtains between the columns for shade, but with the setting of Asgard’s sun they had been pulled back, starlight and Branchlight taking over. It wasn’t yet full dark – the tops of some of the towers below them still blazed with golden light, and the uppermost floors of the city’s taller buildings shone out like beacons. Rare, Loki thought, for them to be back in their rooms before full night. Even with the less important parts of ruling the kingdom delegated to members of the inner council, and with Frigga handling much of the wedding preparations, their days were busy.

Sif had settled herself on the polished stone of the balcony and was sharpening her knives with such intensity that Loki wondered if a slip of her hand would cause her to lose it. “I think you could cut stone with that edge,” he said casually as he conjured a plush cushion on the floor beside her and sat upon it. “Wine?”

“Set it there.” She brought the edge of the knife up to examine it, nodded in satisfaction, and put it aside to take up the next. Loki watched her white-knuckled hands work.

“Perhaps wine right now is not the wisest choice,” he murmured.

“Neither is your plan to send me to _Alfheim_ while you go off to Jotunheim without so much as an honor guard.” 

_Ah, there it is,_ Loki thought. “Surely you trust my ability to keep myself out of trouble.”

“Not at all,” Sif replied hotly. “I trust you to get yourself into trouble and then worm out of it. But one day, Loki, you will not be able to find a way out of a mess you make, and if I am not there to keep your fool hide in one piece…”

“I will beg Hela for your right of passage into her realm to beat me senseless.” This kind of discussion he could have, this banter about decisions and courses of action. The other kind…

“It is not that, Loki. It is that I have a duty to protect Asgard _and its king_ , an oath I took long before we ever wed, yet you seem to deliberately avoid any way that would allow me to uphold it.” She put her whetstone down, the knife she’d been sharpening carefully sheathed again. She picked up another one, working the edge in silence for a long few minutes. “And it is not the only thing you are avoiding talking to me about,” she finished quietly.

Not so lucky to escape _this_ subject, then. Loki set his goblet of wine down and began sullenly running the fringe on the cushion through his fingers. “I am not avoiding talking about anything.”

“You simply refuse to bring it up or acknowledge it when I do. Is that not the same?”

“It is completely different.”

“Perhaps when you slice the words finely enough. We cannot avoid the subject forever, Loki, and more importantly, I _do not want to_ avoid it forever.”

“I thought you wished to avoid giving in to the whims of the court,” Loki replied stiffly. “Given how incessant they are that you carry a child on your hip, instead of your weapons.” He raised his eyes and realized Sif was giving him a look that seemed to indicate he had grown a second head, or had spoken in another language. “What?”

“I would not bear a child for the _court,_ ” she said slowly, clearly seeming to think he needed small words and simple sentences. “I let them try to dictate my actions once before, and never will again. I would want to have a child because we both want it, and the court’s fluttering over heirs and successions be damned.”

He looked away; the tops of the taller buildings in the city were just visible over the balustrade, and he could feel Sif’s eyes boring into him already. She had raised the subject of children before, and truly it was not that he wanted _none_ , but there were… obstacles. 

“You could hardly ride out in defense of king and realm if you were with child,” he muttered. Sif sighed, putting her whetstone and blade aside and resting her elbows on her knees.

“I know this,” she replied quietly. “I have thought the same thing. How am I to be mother and warrior both when it seems one makes the other impossible?”

Usually he would make some quip now, something about how a trickster and a warrior lady were impossible all on their own and ought find such tasks hardly any challenge, but it would have had no teeth, and she would know – he could keep some secrets from her but she kept his heart and knew it too well. For he feared losing her, either by death or by deed, and seeing all he had worked for and wanted for so long come to nothing.

The feel of her fingertips sliding across his palm brought him back out of his thoughts. “You think too much,” Sif told him. “I know where your mind goes, Loki, and I would go with you if you let me. Though if I have told you once—“

“—you have told me a thousand times that my true parentage only has as much bearing as I let it, and that you tire of constantly telling me that it has no bearing on your loyalty and care for me, and regardless of whatever our children were like because of it you would not care for them any less either…” Loki trailed off. “Shall I continue?”

“I think you have the idea. But I would not say it if I did not mean it, Loki, and betimes I think you forget that. Or deliberately do not think of it,” she muttered, and he sighed, rubbing a hand over his face.

“I don’t forget it.”

“And yet you have so much fear of it.”

“I am _not_ afraid—“

“Do not _lie_ to me. You fear your own blood and you fear what your blood _could_ do without thinking that perhaps I would be willing to take the risk.” Sif rested her chin in her palm, looking over her collection of knives. There was a tense line across her brows, and it deepened as he pulled his hand back, digging his thumb into the lines of his palm until it hurt.

“What I am is something that the rest of this realm considers a monster,” he said at last. “I would welcome any child we had, Sif, but I do not want them to have to endure that. And if the mingling of our blood brings you to harm, I… you are brave, my lady, and you have a true warrior’s heart, but I am not certain I could risk you.”

“And still I walk into battle without a murmur of protest from you.”

“That is what you _do_ , it is what you _love_.”

“It is not _all_ I love. You know this.” Sif picked up her knife and began stropping it again, and Loki took it as her signal that the conversation was at an end for now. “Shall we now discuss what to do about Jotunheim and Alfheim? We must find out the identity of whoever the Jotun dissidents are meeting with on Midgard, and that will not be easy.”

He picked up his wine and took a long drink from it, relegating thoughts of children to the place in his mind that kept him awake long after Sif had gone to sleep. “I have a few ideas.”

“Am I going to like these ideas better than how we have been divided in our tasks?”

Loki smiled. “I think perhaps you might.”

*

After a restless night, Bruce crawled back into the lab the next morning and finished up the tracking algorithm. His mind wasn’t on it, though, and as he set the program scanning, using all available particle and atmospheric data, it was his guilty conscience that commanded most of his attention. 

Bruce had found a home with the Avengers, a family cobbled together out of aliens and super-soldiers and assassins and people with _way_ too much money, and he’d felt awful about omitting the Tesseract-like energy signature from what he’d told the others. It had been necessary when he’d been on the helicarrier, unsure of how much could get back to Fury. But Tony had Stark Tower’s computer systems locked down tight. The Tesseract was supposed to be locked up tight on Asgard. They’d want to know that Von Paselk’s magical toy had emitted the same kind of radiation. But more than that they were his friends, the people who accepted him _and_ the Other Guy equally.

He was on his third cup of tea and considering actually drinking coffee (it made his heart race, but Tony had the _good stuff_ in stock, and Bruce was feeling drained enough to want it) and was watching the tracker run itself out across North America when Natasha came in.

“You’re up early,” she said, pulling a lab stool over and leaning on her elbows across from him. Bruce had never quite been able to figure out how to feel about Natasha but for now cautiously liked her – she held herself aloof from the rest of them, but she’d dredged up _fascinating_ books on early gamma radiation work as well as, hilariously, a selection of works about meditation and Buddhist teachings and given the lot to him for Christmas and birthday presents.

“Couldn’t sleep,” he replied. “Tea?”

“What are you having?”

“Assam.”

“Please.”

Bruce got up and filled the little electric kettle with more water. “Little secret,” he said, “Tony keeps the _really_ good coffee and tea in the labs. If you’re ever out of your own stuff, come down here. Sugar or milk?”

“Both, and thanks for the tip.” He heard her get up and move around, her leather jacket creaking slightly. “Captain Rogers told me what you were up to down here. You think you can track this?”

“I think it’s worth a try.”

“I can help.” 

Bruce turned around so fast he nearly slopped hot tea all over his hands. “How?”

“SHIELD Intelligence. I’m kind of active there, remember?” Natasha gave him one of her mysterious little smiles and held out a USB drive. “We’ve been tracking this guy for a while, we know where he’s been spotted prior to coming to the states. There are certain regions we keep an eye on anyway – eastern Europe, China, east Africa – so when someone we’re interested in shows up there, we take note.” She paused. “There’s… other information there you might find interesting too. But I think you might already know about it.”

He finished with her tea and handed it to her, trading cup for USB and taking it over to an open terminal. “So where was our friend seen?”

“Eastern Europe. Romania, Hungary, Serbia… Latveria.”

“Latveria? As in _Doom_?”

“We think so. We haven’t been able to get any proof that Doom’s connected – he’s too smart to get his own hands dirty here – but we think it’s likely. There isn’t anyone else in the region with relevant interests. But if it’s his lab, he’ll have hidden it well. It could be anywhere.”

“And you’re just handing over SHIELD Intelligence information about what we need.”

“I’m an Avenger.” Natasha shrugged. “This stopped being just about SHIELD for me when I set foot on another planet and when I started working with all of you – it’s something bigger now. Something I didn’t anticipate, that I’m not trained for, that I need to learn how to adapt to. And we’re all in this together.”

“You never seemed like much of a team player.”

“I never really was. But things change.” Natasha waved a hand at the terminal. “Do you see what else I’ve found for you?”

Bruce tapped some of the icons on the screen, scanned the files that opened. “SHIELD confiscated a bunch of Tesseract research from that place we broke into back in December? Why? What are they doing with it?”

“Nothing. It’s just locked down on their servers. But…” her fingers flew over the screen and she flicked things over to his screen in quick succession. “The helicarrier picked up some readings from San Francisco, probably from that robot and from the thing that the good doctor was using. Initial reports—“

“—show strong correlation to Tesseract energy.”

Natasha studied his face. “You know.”

“Tony’s suit, it… it was sending back readings as well. We stored them on Stark’s private servers.” _Might as well go all in at this point,_ he thought.

Natasha didn’t seem at all surprised by this, but something drifted across her face. “ _Anyone_ with off-world magic and Tesseract research seems like a bad thing,” she said, watching as Bruce refined the tracking algorithm. “We’ve got to find this lab and stop whatever they’re doing.”

Bruce nodded. The prospect wasn’t a happy one at all. “I’ll let you know as soon as I find anything.”

*

The courtyard was still lit more by torchlight and Branchlight, but from one wall to the other people and horses milled about. Most of the elves were leaving today; they were off to one side, mounted on their leggy horselike beasts and talking quietly amongst themselves in their own language. They knew Loki could understand them, of course – he had studied among their mages and this particular dialect of elvish was one he’d learned quite early in life – but did not seem to care, probably because his attention was on Sif. 

“Be wary of them,” he told her. “They know we seek information, and—“

Sif cut him off with a look, checking Gylfi’s tack by touch alone. “I _have_ dealt with elves before,” she said curtly. “Or do you not remember that time when—“

“I would probably rather not.”

“I know to be cautious.” Sif studied her saddle-girth a moment, then thumped her horse’s flank. Gylfi shifted and sighed, letting out the breath he’d been holding, and she tightened her girth one more notch. “This is the third time you have told me as much this morning. Alfrún is friendly to Asgard, and she is currently in power. I will make sure Stark does not again fall prey to the charms of elves. I will endeavor not to tip Asgard’s hand in this matter if the elves are forthcoming with what they know, though it is doubtful they will be.” She finished with her tack and leaned on Gylfi’s shoulder, looking at him. “I may be no wordsmith, but I think this is within my ability, husband. I shall be far better protected than _you_ , at any rate.”

“I am _exceedingly_ difficult to be rid of.”

“Like a burr in the edge of a blade,” Sif muttered. “And at least _that_ can be ground out on the stone.”

“I should think that is not how you would see me worn down, my lady.”

A bit of her irritation slipped, turning into a sly grin. “No,” she agreed. “It is not. But have a care, Loki, for I would not see you borne back to the palace wrapped in your cloak. As it is, if you come back wounded…”

He laced his fingers and boosted her up into the saddle. “ _You_ bring no cloak to be wrapped in, and if you were lost…”

She surprised him, leaning down and kissing him fully on the mouth, fingers slowly moving round to the back of his head to hold him in place until they broke apart. Her breath a little faster than usual, Sif stroked his hair. “I will be careful, so long as you are, Loki,” she whispered against his mouth. Her voice was husky and deep, and he curled his fingers against her leg. “I want to see you at my side again.”

“I always look to my own security. Return safely, Sif.”

“I will.” Her fingertips trailed off his cheek as she moved off toward the head of the double column of elves and Asgardians out of the courtyard, and at her shouted command they followed until only the stablehands and courtiers remained. When the Bifrost’s lights had ceased to dance in the sky, he called for his own horse.

He’d intended to go over his plans a last time – it never hurt to prepare for every eventuality, after all – but Loki’s mind wandered to his conversation with Sif the night before. Now that there was an assured line of succession the pressure to produce an heir had abated, but his advisors had taken to reminding him (in a way he imagined they thought to be sly and subtle) that successions were altered every day, did he not sit on the throne because of such a thing, and Thor’s child was a daughter besides, and while she would be the one to wield the Allpower her husband’s family would gain great influence over the realm, and what if something befell his brother’s line… Loki had imagined Sif’s own advisors and handmaidens attempting to tell her the same things, and smiled to himself. He _had_ noticed they had been scurrying around her with more alacrity than usual lately, so it was likely she had dealt with them in her own way.

Still, the thought of children brought conflict to his mind, and Loki disliked that. He sowed it outside himself, but having to deal with it in himself was a much less appealing prospect. He wanted children and yet feared what _could_ happen, and while he certainly held plans that hinged upon having them he hoped it would not be necessary to put those plans into action. Loki would not want them to be used if he could at all avoid it.

 _They would be Sif’s as much as your own,_ he thought. _Like as not they would sooner throw themselves off the Bifrost than let themselves be pawns._

Snorri’s shoes rang upon the stone floor as she was led over. The mare was excited to be off, stepping high and pawing the ground. He stroked her neck before mounting up and galloping her out of the courtyard.

 _Being king is so tedious,_ he thought as the wind whipped the long ends of his hair against his cheeks. _It has been far too long since I went out for a gallop that did not end at the Observatory._

Soon enough they had reached the golden dome, though, and Loki felt the gathered magic of the Bifrost hum up through his heels when he dismounted. Heimdall waited inside, inscrutable as ever with his gaze far beyond the borders of the realm. He knew the question Loki would ask before departing, and yet he waited until Loki dropped his fidgeting hands and asked it.

“They are safe?”

“She is,” Heimdall replied. “Though you would do well to remember she _can_ take care of herself quite adeptly, my king.” The title was just within the bounds of proper respect, but such was the relationship they had. As much respect as the king commanded, it was the gatekeeper who held power in this part of the realm, and while Heimdall had little say in the life of his half-sister, it was not precisely a secret that he had a mind for her well-being.

There was the noise behind him of metal sliding on metal, and before him a column of light appeared, a tunnel connecting Asgard and Jotunheim.

“I will call when I am finished,” Loki said. Then he took a breath and let the bridge hook him with its magic.

*

They arrived on Alfheim when the sun was beginning to slant toward late afternoon. The light of the realm’s three suns was diffuse, the mist making the air itself seem golden and dreamlike as it drifted between tall evergreen trees.

The Bifrost had deposited them upon a broad stone platform, the center of which was graven with the imprint of thousands of journeys made under Heimdall’s watchful eye. The hooves of Sif’s horse scraped and clattered against it as they crossed the platform and descended a ramp to a long avenue. Columns as tall as the trees lined either side… at least, they appeared to be columns until closer inspection showed them to be trees themselves, pale wood carved with intricate designs.

“It’s just one impossible thing after the next,” Tony muttered, gripping the high horn of his saddle with one hand and the reins with the other. His horse was steady enough, but seemed somewhat baffled by its rider’s insecurity, for it would occasionally turn its head and look back at Tony. “There’s no way.”

“Are you sure you’re not just mad because you can’t explain it yet?”

“ _Yes_ , Katniss, I’m _sure._ ” Tony glared at his teammate, and Clint didn’t bother keeping the smirk off his face.

“I don’t know, you seem pretty perturbed. But seriously, Stark, at least this planet isn’t flat. In fact it could almost be Earth.”

That held until the first buildings began to show through the mist. At first they seemed to be completely in the trees, until they passed _under_ what seemed to be some kind of market. It floated above them, buildings tethered together by silvery ropes and anchored to the columns on either side as well. Elves could be seen passing between buildings by way of flexible bridges, and the quiet hum of distant conversation floated down to them.

“Okay,” Clint muttered, “So maybe a little different than Earth. I wonder what it’s like up there?”

“Perhaps if we have time, you may find out, Clint Barton.” One of the elves rode up beside him, her mount’s rolling gait easily keeping pace with his horse. “Mortal eyes have not seen our home in a long time. It would be a fine thing to have one with so sharp a gaze look over the city.”

“A very generous offer.” Sif turned to look back at him. “I can count on one hand the number of times I have been to the elves’ arbor markets.”

“You and your friends were usually elsewhere on Alfheim,” the elf riding beside Clint pointed out. “And not invited to the realm.”

“I remember.” Sif had a nostalgic smile on her face. “It was more fun that way.”

The mists burned away in the sun that shone down on the towering structure. It was silvery and rose above the canopy, the tops of its towers blazing with light. The columns marched away to either side, encircling a broad courtyard. Between the columns here were guards, armored and garbed in grey and pale greens; only their eyes were uncovered, and they stared outward, rather than into the courtyard. 

By an archway leading into the tower stood a small group of elves. Sif dismounted first and bowed her head. “Alfrún, Queen of Alfheim,” she said. “It has been a long time since we met last.”

“Indeed it has,” the elf-queen replied. “I greet you, Queen Sif of Asgard. Be welcome in my halls… and your guests as well. Mortals?”

“Extraordinary ones. This is Tony Stark, and the other is Clint Barton, an archer of no small skill.”

“Strange companions for the Queen of Asgard.”

“These are strange times.”

“So they are.” Alfrún was quiet a moment, the long folds of her sari-like gown rustling slightly in the breeze. Then she made a gesture with a long-fingered hand, and her escort extended around them. “Let us go speak somewhere more comfortably then. Your mortal friends may wait with your retinue in the barracks—“

“The Midgardians stay with me,” Sif cut in. Several of the elves looked shocked at her breach of decorum, but either Sif didn’t notice or didn’t care, because she continued on. “They are under the protection of Asgard for as long as they are away from their realm. It would dishonor the House of Odin to send them away.”

There was a pause, and one of the elves leaned over to murmur something in Alfrún’s ear. “Very well,” she said at last. “They must be with one of my guards if they leave our presence, however.”

They were led inside then, through halls even more strange than those in the palace of Asgard. Stair risers seemed to float in the air; walls flowed out of floors without even the suggestion of angles. Tony tried to follow the line of a corridor and could not focus; it was as though the walls and floor and ceiling formed a moebius strip, twisting around itself, and—

“Clint,” Tony whispered. “Clint. There are elves _walking on the ceiling._ ”

“I’ve noticed,” Clint muttered. “I don’t like this place.”

“I’ve got a bad feeling too.” Tony shifted the red-and-silver case into his other hand and deliberately stomped on each riser of the staircase that spiraled up toward the top of the tower; there were no hand rails, nothing there to keep him from falling back down to the ground level now far below. “But we’re supposed to be bodyguards or whatever, so let’s just… stick to the plan, I guess. _Is_ there a plan?”

Clint eyed Sif’s back as she climbed steadily up ahead of them. “Maybe.”

Sure enough, partway up the stairs Sif dropped back to exchange a few whispered words with Clint, and not long afterward, he said he’d changed his mind and wanted to go down with Sif’s guards.

“You can keep an eye on the queen, can’t you, Stark?” he asked, collapsing his bow down again. “I mean, you’ve got your suit.”

“What, are we too boring for you?”

“Pretty much.” Clint nodded to Sif. “Your Majesty.”

When they’d finally reached what seemed to be some kind of throne room, Tony leaned in while the other elves drifted away.

“Gonna tell me the plan?”

“No.”

“I just really think I should be informed of at least my part of the plan.”

“Your part of the plan is to stay with me and by my loyal, trustworthy Midgardian.” Sif smiled at him. “Hopefully we will not need your particular abilities as much as we need Clint Barton’s.”

*

“You know,” Clint said conversationally, “I’d think you guys would make that elevator thing go from the ground floor up. These stairs are a _bear_.”

His elf escort said nothing. Clint had to lope along faster than his normal stride to keep up with the long strides the elf took, but it wasn’t taxing. He just had to be careful where he put his feet. 

“I’m just saying, it makes more sense that way. Even you guys have to get tired of it. Hey, what’s in here?”

He ducked around the elf and started down one of the corridors that branched off the main spiral stair, trying to ignore the fact that the floor began to curve up the wall a short distance down. What he was going for was what he got – the elf guard started after him, a hand reaching for his sword hilt.

“You cannot—“

Clint spun, bringing his collapsed bow hard against the elf’s temple and hoping that it’d have the same effect as it did on humans. When the elf dropped like a rock, he grinned.

“Some things don’t change,” he muttered, and hooked his bow to the clips on his quiver. Grabbing the elf under the arms, he began dragging the heavy body down the corridor. As he did, the floor twisted, the corridor ahead of him tilting off of level… but he never felt as though he was tilting himself. He seemed to be standing on perfectly solid, straight up-and-down footing, gravity not pulling him one way or the other.

 _Huh_ ,” he thought. _That’s pretty cool._

The first door he entered yielded what looked like some kind of sitting room, furniture flowing out of the floor rather than being placed upon it. Clint stashed the guard’s body behind a couch.

“Sorry, buddy,” he said. “But I’ve got work to do.”

*

Compared to bright Asgard, Jotunheim was so dim it left lights dancing in his eyes when it deposited him on the surface of the planet before the open gates of Utgard. There were many Frost Giants around, on the walls and on piles of ice and rock that had been shifted to make defenses, and all of them watched him. The realm was in the middle of a war between claimants to the throne, and those who supported the Jotun currently sitting on the throne would take no chances.

Utgard seemed to have fared well either way, since last he had been here to discuss matters with the current king. Six months ago there had been only shattered ice underfoot; now permanent-looking buildings had begun to appear within the protection of the walls, and there was more activity and the sounds of a settlement. It meant stability of a sort, though why or how Loki could not say. By all accounts the only thing keeping Rolfgar from attacking right now was the winter.

Another checkpoint and more guards, ones that seemed to be less deferential than the rest, but he did not stop to wonder if he’d done ill by setting Jotunheim on this path. It benefitted Asgard, and more importantly it would benefit him in the long term, so he quashed his instinct to demand proper respect. A few minutes later he was passing through an archway of carved ice into the open courtyard of Urrikr, cousin to the line of Laufey and current king of Jotunheim.

“This is an unexpected honor,” the current king said as Loki approached. “Loki, King of Asgard.” He bowed from his seat, while Loki only inclined his head, the barest civility afforded. “You are hardy, to come to Jotunheim in the depths of winter. And brave, to come in the midst of war. Or you could be foolhardy.”

“Asgard and Jotunheim are realms entwined,” Loki said. “Should we not bear a little discomfort for the sake of those dependent upon us?”

“Yet the quicksilver king appears to bear none,” Urrikr rumbled, and Loki worked to keep his face impassive as he watched a slow, toothy grin spread across the Frost Giant’s face. “And I do wonder why _that_ could be, when he has an errand urgent enough for him to turn his eye to this realm?” With a wave of his hand, the guards – Loki supposed they must be guards, for Jotunheim had no propensity for the court politics of Asgard – turned and melted away into the blue ice-shadows, leaving them alone. Loki watched, though his fingers flicked slightly behind his back in preparation for spells of concealment and warding.

When they were alone, Urrikr rose from the throne with the sound of cracking ice and descended the steps from it. “Why have you come, quicksilver king? And do bear in mind, I know your secret. The blood oath transferred to Laufey’s next of kin when he so conveniently perished on the battlefield, and of course it could not go to you and all his brothers are dead. I know what it is you promised.”

“The Hoarfrost Throne is yours, so long as you can hold it,” Loki replied quickly. “Seeing as I have my own.”

“One you would be loath to give up, since it comes with such lovely benefits.”

Loki spread his hands. “One always desires what one knows best. I come seeking information, _King_ Urrikr, of a matter that affects both our realms.”

Urrikr crossed his arms. “I assume you have something of value to offer us in return?”

“Is the security of your realm not enough for you?” Loki could not help putting scorn into his voice. It had galled him, but Sif had agreed with his advisors and said he ought to have something prepared to offer.

“Our realm is not secure within _itself_. Unless you offer me something more substantial than the wind of your words , I must see to my own interests. Jotunheim might be a protectorate of yours, but that hardly diminishes its sovereignty, cousin, and even without the rebels camped to the west the fact there is a direct blood heir of Laufey’s is cause to make me… _nervous_.”

Perhaps he ought to have taken a guard along, Loki thought. “The oath binds me as much as it binds you,” he said simply. “Whatever my reputation, I keep my oaths. Either that is enough for you, or it isn’t.”

There was a protracted moment of silence, where Urrikr seemed to be sizing him up. Magic fizzed at Loki’s fingertips – if he had to get out of Jotunheim now, it would be very damaging for him. But the Jotun king nodded at last.

“Not even you could squirm out of a blood oath,” he said. “You would not want to risk the magic used in the breaking. So make your offer, _Asgardian_ , and I will decide if it is suitable or not.”

“I can offer you what you need,” Loki replied, talking quickly lest Urrikr changed his mind. “Formal acknowledgement from Asgard of the legitimacy of your claim. In writing, of course.”

Urrikr drew in a breath. “A valuable thing to offer, and a risky one. If I should fall—“

“The acknowledgement would come with the promise of military aid.” Loki considered his fingernails nonchalantly, though it annoyed him to even have to do this much. Asgard was giving much to Jotunheim here, and if it did not pay off… “But as a protectorate, you ought to have anticipated that already. My predecessor would have seen our realms united in a permanent peace. What else can I possibly do but further that noble goal?”

“It is difficult for us to be allies when you still hold our means of coming to your aid.”

“Heimdall does not find the demands of Jotunheim taxing.”

“The Casket belongs _here_.”

“Midgard may be full of comparatively primitive people, Urrikr,” Loki said idly, “But it has many tales of those whose dreams were so grand and whose arrogance was so great that they lost all they had in the process. Shall I tell you a favorite of mine?”

Urrikr worked his jaw for a moment, but at last bowed his head. “I accept your terms,” he muttered. “What information would you know?”

“Simply answers to my questions. First, whether or not any of your people have had contact with elves, for surely it galls you to be stuck on this wretched rock. All know that the elves have their secret ways along Yggdrasil’s branches.”

“The elves do not deal with us,” Urrikr replied frostily. “Neither I nor any in Utgard have spoken with an elf. Though our numbers have grown since I took the throne, we are not yet so many that I am uncertain of where the loyalties of my people lie.”

“Loyalty can easily be swayed.”

“You share our blood, King, but you don’t know how we live here.” Urrikr turned his back and went back to his throne, sitting upon it. “If we cannot depend on each other, we fall. If we cannot trust each other, we fall. This _wretched rock_ is our home, and we only survive by knowing that if we take risks, we will have someone at our back.”

“A touching lesson,” Loki said. “Have you spies in the camp of your enemy?”

By the way Urrikr smiled before he replied, Loki knew the answer to that. “An astute question, for they have reported that elves have been seen in the camp of Rolfgar, the one who would unseat me. They were hooded and cloaked, but it is said that one had hair the color of snow. They have visited thrice, and the last time there were beings that were not elves with them. Midgardians, perhaps, for they were dressed strangely and spoke with a quick cadence my people did not recognize.”

“Perhaps,” Loki said, but his mind was already ticking over. “For now, I am satisfied. Though one more answer may help balance the ledger a bit more…”

“Speak.”

“The location of Rolfgar’s camp. How far west of here is it?”

“A day and a night of walking; he has made his winter camp on what Asgard has called the Deathfrost Plains. Thinking of taking a jaunt?”

“Do not speak absurdities,” Loki replied airily, turning to go. “Only a madman would do _that_.”

*

“Thor?”

Looking up from where he’d been sitting with Lena – she’d had her dinner and, like most new parents, once she’d fallen asleep so had he – Thor smiled at Jane where she stood by the door of their suite of rooms, taking off her shoes. 

“We tried to wait for your return,” he said softly. “Alas, I fear we were not successful.”

“That’s all right.” Her shoes off and coat hung up on the rack, Jane padded across the floor to where they sat on one of the couches. One of her arms curled around his shoulders as she leaned over him; the other stroked Lena’s hair away from her face. “You had her all day long.”

Turning his head, Thor brushed his lips over his fiancée’s jaw until she gave in and kissed him. “We had quite a full day, did we not, little one?” he whispered to Lena as Jane came around the couch and sat beside him. “She tried to walk today.”

“Again?”

“She could not, but she grows strong and clever.” Jane held out her arms, and Thor handed Lena over. There was a moment where her little face scrunched up and a fist waved slowly, but then she settled into sleep again, and both Thor and Jane let out the breaths they’d been holding as Jane got comfortable.

“I worry sometimes that I’ll miss stuff like her first steps, her first word.” Jane shifted against him, getting more comfortable. “I’m not gonna stop my work – not when I’m finally _allowed_ to get recognition,” and she sounded annoyed that she had to qualify it that way. “But I’m gone so much…”

“Perhaps she will hold off until we are all three of us together in a month.” They could not take the traditional month, but Thor had some holdings on a moon close to Asgard, a pleasant world of lakes and forests, sunny skies by day and clear, crisp ones streaked by Yggdrasil’s branches at night. Jane would love it.

“So you’re going on a mission.”

Thor froze. Jane didn’t sound mad, but he knew he’d have to tread lightly, for his minimal duties until after their wedding had been the agreed-upon plan and he’d always had much more warning than this. “Perhaps,” he said slowly.

“Were you planning to tell me?”

“If I was needed, and I meant to last night, but you were tired when you returned from Culver and I did not want to burden your mind with it until I knew more… Jane, let me explain why I feel I must go with them.” He spoke quickly, laying out what had happened and then his reasoning, and at the end of it, fell silent. The sky outside darkened the rest of the way and the lights came on, a fluorescent sea that never dimmed.

Jane was lost in thought, her thumb rubbing over Lena’s fine blonde hair. “I’ve talked with some Latverian physicists who defected over the years,” she said at last. “Latveria might not be an awful place to live, but it doesn’t sound like their leader – is his name _really_ Doom? – is the greatest boss to work for.”

“It does not. And while I sometimes find myself… at odds with my brother, I think he has the right of it. But for a very few people, this realm is not ready for magic.”

“You know I don’t always agree with that.” Jane bit her lip, thinking. “But I don’t think that it belongs with someone like Doom either. Not when it’s used to hurt people I care about and could be used to hurt a lot more.” She ran a hand through her hair and sighed, shifting Lena into one arm, getting ready to stand. I’ll let people know I might need to cancel on them – luckily my schedule’s getting lighter, anyway. I can’t do much when I’m not even going to be on the planet in a month.”

He felt relieved, for while Jane would have understood if he’d been called to help without being able to ask her, it was better for both of them if they worked this out. He rose and helped Jane up, wrapping an arm around her on the way into the nursery. “I am sorry for pulling you away from your work.”

“Don’t be, we’re stuck right now anyway – can’t find a way to safely conduct enough energy yet.” Jane settled Lena down in her crib, leaning over a moment to rub her daughter’s stomach and help her fall back asleep. “Besides, I know what I’m getting into with you, Thor, and I don’t mind. Unless you suddenly have objections to marrying a workaholic who could be— _will_ be one of the youngest to win a Nobel prize?”

Her confidence made Thor smile, and he leaned down to kiss her, the singular mortal who made the stars themselves dance to her music. “I could not imagine marrying anyone else.”

“Good.” Jane had to stand on the tips of her toes to kiss him again but Thor was ready, lifting her just enough to make up the difference. They parted, and Jane ran her fingers over the leather of his shirt, tracing the patterns. 

There was a very familiar gleam in her eyes, and Thor took her hands, bringing them to his lips so he could kiss the tip of each one. “That is not to say I cannot imagine other things.”

“Oh, _really_.” Jane let him go on for a minute, then made an impatient noise and tugged him out of Lena’s room. “Let’s go be creative for a little bit.”

*

 _I must be a madman,_ he thought.

The camp spread out before him, thousands of white-covered lumps upon the vast expanse of the Deathfrost Plains. Not only warriors that had followed Rolfgar but their families, a people on the move. From his perch on the cliff half a mile off where he’d reappeared, vanishing in Utgard’s map room to the astonishment of onlookers, Loki watched, and planned how he would enter the camp.

 _Their patrols would spot me in a moment if I simply walked up and asked to speak with Rolfgar,_ he thought. _King of Asgard or not, I would encounter unpleasantness. I have no need to talk to him, anyway._ Crawling back from the edge, Loki made his way to a rock overhang and set about himself with his magic. Layers of spells for concealment, for movement in silence, charms to make the eye slide off him and the mind think of some vaguely important errand in the opposite direction. To anyone looking, not only would he be invisible, he would not even be notable. Thus hidden, Loki made his way back to the edge of the cliff, and stepped off into space.

The base of the cliffs had created drifts of snow about as deep as he was tall. Loki was glad of it, for it muffled his landing and softened the fall somewhat, though his magic cushioned him from the worst of it. The ice of the Deathfrost Plains was a deep greenish-blue underfoot, and as he walked away from his landing site his footprints were nearly invisible, and any imprints were quickly filled in by wind-driven snow.

Once he made the camp he stuck to paths between the strange dome-houses, when possible. Though most Frost Giants were inside or elsewhere, the last thing Loki needed was to bump into one. There was plenty of room for him, and the spells made it possible to squeeze through tiny spaces, flowing almost like water through gaps he would have never fit in otherwise. Occasionally he had to pause when he reached a thoroughfare between clusters, as patrols walked the paths with blue lanterns held high and weapons loose in their sheaths. There was some logic to the groups – Loki had seen flags marking out companies, perhaps, or tribes or clans. He didn’t stop to consider it too much, and there seemed to be free movement between each grouping. No camp divisions he could exploit, no obvious old rivalries. Rolfgar was known in part for his leadership. Perhaps they had all set aside their divisions and rallied to that.

There were also strangely carved pillars of black stone scattered throughout. Something about them seemed familiar, but the fact that they were given a wide berth made Loki do the same. They made the spells he held in his hands begin to heat his skin unpleasantly, and he did not want to know more.

The center of the camp was dominated by a feasting hall. It had obviously been raised by magic, for the ice was translucent and just as exquisitely sculpted as parts of Utgard’s walls. It seemed that the festivities had just begun, and so much the better for Loki, for nearby he saw a dome-house that was twice the size of any others he had seen before, with a banner proclaiming the residence of Rolfgar, and two guards stood beside the entrance. Slowly, Loki crept around the edge of the circular courtyard around the hall until he was pressed to the side of Rolfgar’s dome-house, feeling the wall with his fingertips. There – a touch of warmer air, the faint glow from inside. Loki took a breath, and on the exhale pushed himself through the crack that was little more than a hair’s breadth.

He nearly doubled over coughing once inside, but managed to keep in the noise and instead got his breathing under control once more while having a look around. It was a well-appointed place, to his surprise. Furs and embroidered cloth decorated the walls and floor, and Loki remembered that until he had rebelled against Urrikr, Rolfgar had been part of what remained of the highest of Jotunheim’s warrior caste, renowned for his skill in battle. He would have had all the trappings of it, such as they were. An Asgardian would find it hopelessly barbaric, but Loki supposed to a race such as the Frost Giants, it was unimaginably fine.

Through an archway half-hidden behind a cloth of deep blue he could see a bedchamber, currently unoccupied; another archway was closed off. But what he wanted was here, Loki thought, somewhere around the large table that appeared to have grown out of the icy floor. It was currently covered in pieces of parchment and scrolls, with a map weighted at the corners spread out across it. Jotunheim, Loki saw as he approached, with positions marked in red ink upon it.

The parchments were dull – supply and patrol reports, letters, advice from scouts and spymasters – those Loki read through quickly and memorized before putting back. Not as he found it – he messed the order enough to make it obvious _someone_ had been in the dome, though nothing but a close magical inspection would reveal anything. Let Rolfgar suspect someone in his camp. 

_Distractions, distractions,_ he thought irritably. _Where are you?_

It was only a chance brush of fingers against the ice of the table that revealed it, the pressure of magic against his skin. Loki smiled and drummed his fingertips against the apparently solid surface, and with it the illusion melted away, revealing a sheaf of paper – Midgard _paper_ , not parchment – covered in typed lettering. Loki pulled it out and thumbed through them, noting a name that came up. _Doom? That melodramatic one in… Latveria?_

A flick of his wrist had the papers vanishing into safety (they’d be waiting in his study) and Loki set an illusion in the space they’d been in and resetting the original spell. Not until he went to take up the papers would Rolfgar ever know—

“Looking for something?”

The reaction was pure instinct at this point. Loki created a double of himself even as he pulled his concealment spells back up around him and ducked toward the wall, the way he’d come in. _Just taking an interest,_ he thought.

“Just taking an interest,” the clone said.

“Asgard doesn’t care about this,” Rolfgar snapped. “Asgard cares only for itself. You would seat a puppet upon the Hoarfrost Throne, one you could control and dispose of at will! Utgard has lost its people, and Urrikr has no intention of making Jotunheim great again, and all because of _you_.”

Loki felt along the wall, trying not to disturb the wall hangings as he searched for the hole. Ah, there it was, yes. _Urrikr assures me otherwise._

“Urrikr—“

Rolfgar struck – once at the clone, a chip of ice that banished the spell in a flash of light, and once right at Loki. The edge of it clipped his cheek, and as Loki felt cold spread across his face he began hurriedly pushing himself through the crack.

“You aren’t the only one with magic here,” he heard Rolfgar say, though the words were muffled through the ice. “But maybe you shouldn’t rely so much on it, Asgardian.”

Then Loki was on the outside of the dome-house again and running hard, darting between buildings and crates of supplies and what looked like oversized dog-sleds. Subtlety was not an issue anymore, only speed, and Loki put distance between himself and Rolfgar’s house, using his momentum to carry him over obstacles. He glanced behind when he was about halfway through the camp, looking to see if an alarm had been raised—

And ran straight into a cluster of Jotuns on patrol, all with their arms and hands encased in ice. Loki hurriedly threw the two spells he’d prepared, flashes of green light jetting out from his hands and giving him time to duck behind a stack of crates. There were two _thunks_ against the crate at his back – ice projectiles, probably – and Loki stood, throwing a silver knife wrapped in a spell. He heard a roar of pain as the knife found its mark, and darted once more from cover, making for the edge of the camp. He’d run the shadowed paths once he reached the edge, and call Heimdall when he was—

Pain lanced through his thigh and Loki pitched forward, the ice-knife grating against bone. Teeth bared savagely, he whipped a killing spell right into the heart of the giant who had thrown the knife. That gave the others pause, enough time for Loki to throw an illusion of himself limping off in three different directions while he slid behind the nearest house and tried not to breathe too hard.

 _Hela’s bony half,_ he cursed mentally, _Why is the chill not lessened by my blood?_ There surely was enough of _that_ welling out around the blade. Gripping it, squeezing his eyes against the spreading blue on his hand, Loki bit down on the sleeve of his coat and yanked the knife out. The pain sent stars across his eyes and his vision darkened. Loki took a few shaky breaths and pushed it back, limping onward when he felt he could. There were more shouts now, more noise now that alarms had been raised. He’d have to move quickly.

 _If I die,_ Loki thought as he made his way outward, _Sif will find my body, bring me back to life, and then kill me again._ She would not be pleased at all when they saw each other next, and he did feel somewhat guilty about it.

Another patrol caught up to him when the edge of camp was in sight. In pain, desperate, Loki flung killing spells indiscriminately, one hand pressed to his thigh and the other pointing at giants as they approached. His throat was hoarse with the power of the spells, but he would not – _could_ not – fall, not now. Desperate for more time he splayed his fingers wide and a ripple of green magic emanated from him, knocking all the Jotuns back with the power in it. Loki took a breath and grinned at them with as much of his usual trickster’s manner as he could muster up.

“Not so well trained, are you?” he taunted. “Good day, gentlemen.”

He turned into a clear space, pulled on his magic to step into the shadows – and rocked back into the same place. It was like a wall had come down between him and the paths, and the rest of his magic for that matter.

 _Oh_ , he thought faintly. _That isn’t good._

Hands grabbed him by the shoulders, lifted and slammed his back against one of the black stone monoliths. The stone cracked, pieces raining down on his shoulders, pattering off his armor, and despite his leg Loki kicked out, heard a grunt as his boot connected with something soft, even as he felt the leathers of his coat begin to crack and fall apart under the bone-chilling cold of a Jotun’s grip. The familiar hated chill crept over his skin, and with rising panic, Loki knew he was shifting out of his Asgardian illusion.

“Rolfgar is going to want to talk to you,” the Frost Giant holding him said with a grin. “One of his kin, aren’t you – those are Laufey’s marks on your hea—“

He cut off with a gurgle, and Loki dropped the silver knife into the spreading pool of hot Jotun blood as he finally broke free, cutting through the last cluster of domes to the edge of the camp. His legs would only bear him a short distance before they shuddered and collapsed under him.

“Heimdall,” Loki rasped, blue fingers digging into the hard icy crust of the Deathfrost Plains, feeling the vibrations in it from many approaching feet, “Open the Bifrost.”


	4. Frequency

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [sweats nervously] So uh hey guys it's been a while. Moving to another part of the state for a new job, having various life upsets and getting involved in things like Big Bang (and you should all go feast upon the cornucopia of fics and artwork that that produced) kind of sucked away all my energy. But I'm back! I'd never abandon this 'verse.
> 
> I hope you all enjoy!
> 
> _frequency;_ the number of occurrences of a repeating event per unit time.

“I am sorry I could not be of more help to you, Queen Sif,” Alfrún said. “Unfortunately, I do not know of any in my halls who would stoop to such villainous acts.”

She rose from her throne and descended the three low steps to stand on equal footing; though she towered over Sif, to the warrior’s eyes something about the elf-queen seemed diminished, as though her back was bowed by a great weight. “There is no need to apologize,” Sif told her. “You have been very kind, Queen Alfrún, and I am grateful.”

“And none can doubt the word of Asgard’s queen, nor question her loyalty and honor.” Alfrún made a small gesture. “Will you walk with me in the rooftop gardens? It has been long since I have had a peer to visit, and though tales of your exploits – and of your husband’s – have reached our ears, it would do well to hear them from you directly.” She smiled, careful not to let her pointed teeth show. “Certainly they’ve been vastly exaggerated.”

There was an undercurrent here, and even as Sif put on her best and most diplomatic face, she noted how the guards closed in around them as they walked. “Oh, no doubt,” she replied without missing a beat. “I shall set you right, Queen Alfrún.”

“That is what I hope.” They stepped back on the platform. A section of the ceiling pulled back smoothly as they approached it, and the platform slotted into place.

Looking out, it seemed the top of the tower floated in a green sea; the canopy of the forest around it rose and fell, the leaves smoothing out in to waves with distance and the blurring effects of atmosphere. Mist still rose between the trees and drifted over the verdant garden that covered the rooftop around them and spilled down the sides.

Alfrún stepped off the platform with Sif, and the guards were not far behind them. When her slippers crunched on the gravel swath around the base of the platform, the elf-queen paused.

“You may wait here,” she said.

The guards didn’t move. “Our orders are to protect you, Queen Alfrún,” one of them said.

“Queen Sif rules Asgard, which has always been a friend to us. Will we offer insult?”

“She is quite well-defended with me,” Sif told them. “If I am overcome, you will all be in trouble yourselves.”

The guards exchanged a look. One of them said, “Perhaps a few paces further back.”

Alfrún sighed. “That will have to do. Follow me, Sif, our star-flowers are blooming. I know your husband had a necklace wrought for you that takes their shape, and I must say I admire his taste.”

“In flowers, or jewelry?”

“In both. But Loki – _King_ Loki – has always had a more refined eye than others.” A little smile played about her lips. “I was not the only elf lady who would have wed him for the good of the realm.”

Thinking of their current disagreements, Sif felt an ache in her chest but did her best not to give anything away on her face. “Forgive me for saying it, but I doubt any elf lady would have the fortitude to marry the most stubborn man in the Nine Realms.”

“In that case, it is just as well that you married him. Ah, here we are.” Alfrún bent over, touching long, delicate fingertips to the petals of an indigo star-flower. “They have just begun to open this season, and their scent is sweet. Here, come in close…”

Bending, Sif put her nose in the blossom and inhaled the heady scent of the star-flower, and as she did, Alfrún leaned over as well.

“I am not in control here,” she murmured so quietly that Sif could only just hear her. “There are dark elves in my tower. Their friends control my advisory council.” Alfrún straightened. “Are the flowers not lovely?” she asked in a normal tone of voice.

“Truly.” Sif kept her expression neutral as much as she could, and thanked the gods above that she had learned a few tricks from Loki. “They do not bloom so well anywhere else in the realms. Here, this one is exceptionally large—“ she gestured and they bent over together. “Where?”

“I would grow them down below,” Alfrún said, “At the lower levels of the tower, you know. But they simply do better up here.”

“The light, no doubt, though that hardly explains why they do not grow so fine in Asgard. I forget, how many cuttings did you give to Lady Frigga?”

“Better than thirty, I think. Have her send to me and I will pass the message to my gardener. She truly has the touch.”

“I certainly will do that. It may take some time – even though she is not queen, Lady Frigga keeps herself busy, as you know.”

They walked here and there, crisscrossing the garden and occasionally having conversations about various flowers in between Sif’s tales of her exploits, throwing the guards off if either one of them was some kind of mole. At the end of it, Alfrún clasped her hands around Sif’s. 

“I never thought that a woman with your reputation would have an appreciation for this art,” she said. Sif smiled, and her fingers curled around Alfrún’s wrist. The elf was trapped, and for all her magical prowess, she felt alone and powerless. Sif would see that remedied if she could.

“I do not always venture forth as a warrior,” she said. “Though I think if I were told to trade my glaive for a pair of garden shears I might go mad.”

“Doubtless,” Alfrún said after their laughter quieted. “Now, our price…”

“Will be paid in full at the earliest convenience of the treasury.” Sif bowed her head slightly, and Alfrún did the same. “I keep my promises.”

“I know.” Alfrún waved a hand and a low hum rose from the platform. “I will remain up here some time longer, I think. I bid you good day, Queen Sif. You have proven most illuminating to me, and I am only sorry I could not do the same.”

“Until next time, Queen Alfrún.”

She collected Tony Stark and they stepped onto the platform again. As soon as the ceiling had flowed back over them, he opened his mouth, but she held up a hand.

“All will be made clear when we are back in Asgard,” she said. “Though I’m sure you could follow most of that?”

“It was just a conversation about flowers.” Tony’s eyes said something else, and Sif nodded.

“I am allowed my eccentric hobbies, Tony Stark.”

“I’d have thought they involved ropes and safe words.” At her look, Tony smirked and then covered it up by coughing into his hand. “Never mind.”

Sif let the silence stretch on for what she deemed was a long and uncomfortable period of time, then cracked a smile. “We do not use only ropes, in any case,” she said, and grinned when Tony’s eyes went wide.

They were escorted off the platform and began the long descent. Tony commenced peppering one of the guards with questions (though he answered half of them himself, or simply kept talking and gave no chance for response), and Sif recognized it for what it was. She kept her hands loose and her weight shifted and waited for what she knew was coming.

It took longer than she’d thought; Clint Barton had apparently made it quite some distance down the tower before making his move. But sure enough an elf stumbled out of a side passage, a trickle of old blood drying on his face.

“Their archer!” he choked out, pointing at Sif. And that was when she moved, swinging her shield off her back and slamming the edge hard against the elf’s head. He crumpled, and she spun, ready to take the two steps up to help Stark—

And found him standing over their escorts, his red-and-silver briefcase in his hand and a smug look on his face.

“I see you’ve got it all under control,” Sif quipped. Tony shrugged.

“I’m an Avenger.”

“Right.” Sif looked at the elves draped across the stairs and sighed.

“Not looking forward to the diplomacy?”

“I am much better with a blade of steel than a blade of words. Now, quickly – we must hide these three and be on our way before any more of the traitors in Alfrún’s household can find us.”

They collected their horses – and Clint, who emerged from the guards’ barracks where he had apparently been engaging them in a display of his archery skills – and rode off down the column-lined avenue. The mist had cleared, allowing them a clear view of the forest they rode through and the buildings suspended above them, but nobody looked, too intent on reaching the Bifrost site and departing.

As Sif felt the vibration begin in the back of her skull that signified the Bifrost’s approach, she saw a rider galloping down the avenue toward them. Behind the rider were many more, and Sif glanced at the gathering clouds in the sky, the light beginning to sparkle behind them, and wondered if perhaps her half-brother could hurry it along a little more.

She should not have worried; a moment later she felt a hook in her abdomen and saw light descend around them, and could not contain a relieved laugh as Gylfi bore her safely back home.

*

_This is never going to get easier,_ Clint thought as he gripped his horse so tightly that it began to prance under him, ears flicking back and forth at the way he was clutching at the reins. Tony’s horse was more placid, and Sif’s mount was quiet under her as she leaned over, listening intently to something Heimdall was saying. Clint eased up, and his horse stilled, tossing its head one more time before cocking a hind hoof as though it had not a care in the world.

“Completely insane,” Tony was muttering. “They’re a society of _crazy people._ ”

“They’re all warriors.”

“Not all of them. But they’re all _fine_ with _rocketing through space_ with nothing but their _own skin._ ”

“Don’t tell me you’ve never gone in without protection, Stark.”

“Was that a joke? Did you just crack a sex joke, Barton?”

“I make jokes sometimes.”

“No, you’re the stoic, mysterious one. You don’t joke, you don’t laugh or smile…”

“Natasha is stoic and mysterious. _You_ just mistake me listening and paying attention for me being either stoic _or_ mysterious.”

“Yeah, but if I tease Mrs. Smith like this, I’m going to wake up with a booby-trapped room, and Pepper wouldn’t like that.”

“No, I don’t think she would.” 

Clint was grinning way too broadly at the thought, so Tony decided to change tacks. “So. You got the hots for—“

“I’m not saying a _word_ , Tony.”

“You don’t have to. I know.”

That made Clint look over sharply. “Oh?”

“Yeah. It’s—“

“He _what_?” Sif exclaimed, and both men looked over. She was back in a whispered, heated conversation with Heimdall. The guardian seemed to be more amused than upset, unlike Sif.

“Something wrong?” Tony asked. Sif’s head whipped around/

“That _idiot husband_ of mine—“ she paused, then jerked her head toward the opening of the Observatory and the city beyond. “No, it is best if you two come. The more witnesses the better.”

The Healing Rooms were tranquil and calm, with the peaceful sounds of the wind and the tinkling of fountains providing a restful atmosphere for those within its walls. Healers bustled a little faster than usual now, but they still paused and bowed for Sif as she passed, and it was well that they did. Perhaps they marked the expression on her face.

“Where is he?” she demanded of the first healer who didn’t move out of her way fast enough. To her credit the healer did not shake or drop the tray of delicate-looking crystal decanters she carried.

“The door with the green drapings,” the healer replied. “He is awake now.”

“Was he not when he arrived?”

“He regained consciousness not long after we began treating him.” The healer’s lips twitched. “The king is in fine spirits, my queen. You needn’t worry about him recovering.”

“Good,” Sif growled as she stalked off again. Tony and Clint trailed after her as she shoved the hangings aside in one of the doorways, crowding in behind.

Loki was on the bed, propped up on pillows and reading a book with a few healers fluttering around him. His clothing was in tatters, torn and cracked with a big section of his trousers cut away. His eyes were on Sif – and if Tony didn’t know better he’d have sworn that the trickster king’s eyes had gone wider than usual.

“Oh,” Loki said, pretending to be calm and not looking up from his book. “You brought friends, I see. How was Alfheim?”

“Illuminating.” Sif’s eyes narrowed at his flippant tone. “What was that you said about not needing a guard, husband?”

“Oh, I have had worse. It was only a stab wound—“

“Only? _Only?_?”

“—and the healers say that because it was an ice dagger it was just as well, for no part of the blade was left after it melted away.”

“ _How_ did this happen?”

“A slight dispute over accessibility of information and my methods of acquiring it. And boundaries, I suppose.”

“A slight dispute—“ Sif ran a hand over her face. Loki turned a page in his book.

“I really do not understand your complaint, Sif. I’m quite all right.”

“You have a _stab wound_ in your leg and who knows what other injuries—“

“And you look like you’ve been hit by a truck,” Tony added. Clint gave him a look that was equal parts _shut the fuck up_ and _you have balls for talking right now_.

Loki’s gaze (which was quickly becoming a glare) shifted to Tony. “Shut up, Tony St—“ he cut himself off with a quiet noise of pain as one of the healers bent over a wound on his shoulder. “Can you not be more _careful_ with your king?”

“My apologies,” the healer replied. “You have some kind of stone embedded in this one, my king.”

Loki twisted his head to look – or tried to before gritting his teeth and shifting back to face forward. “Is it black?” 

“Yes. Shall I put it with the other samples?”

“Naturally.”

“ _Do not ignore me,_ ” Sif hissed. Tony and Clint took a step back, and Loki sighed.

“I realize you may be a little upset with me, Lady, but if you would allow me to explain—“

“I _am_ upset, because obviously you went somewhere other than Utgard to have sustained these injuries, and I will know where. You _know_ I do not like being _lied_ to.”

“I am not _lying_. I simply did not tell you the whole truth.”

“That is the _same thing_.”

Loki scowled. “I merely paid a contender for Jotunheim’s throne a little visit.”

“And brawled while you were there? That is something your _brother_ might do…”

“I may have, ah, arrived uninvited. And I may have been caught somewhere I ought not have been, doing something I should not have.”

“You were _caught?_ ” Sif crossed her arms. “We ought to put our support behind this contender just for that.”

“It was hardly my fault,” Loki muttered. “But it was worth it.”

“We shall see.” Sif watched him beadily for a moment before turning on her heel. “This is not done, husband, and we _will_ discuss this later.” She stormed out of the room, the hangings slapping against the floor in the wake of her angry passage. Loki glared after her.

“I am all right _now_ , thank you for asking!” he yelled, but got no response.

Tony and Clint looked at each other.

“You’re right,” Clint said. “He’s whipped.”

*

Coulson’s work days were best described by words like _long_ and _busy_. Other people, those unfamiliar with his duties, would have added _bizarre_ , _uncanny_ , or even _freaky_ , but they would not have understood the importance of the tasks they saw as disparate. Just because the world knew about aliens and other worlds did not mean they understood them, nor did it mean they were _ready_ to understand them, and Coulson was the filter that kept people from knowing too much.

Holding his first cup of coffee, he strode down the corridors of the helicarrier with a few folders and a tablet tucked under one arm. The folders were the last of the personnel files he’d pulled out for consideration, and he flipped open the first of them when he made it to his desk. These were Fury’s requested candidates, and it showed; Coulson would never have picked any of them, even for all the faith he had in the present team of oft-unmanageable people.

His reading and note-taking was interrupted by an agent coming in. The patches indicated she was from the new division that handled interplanetary relations and all the headaches that came with having a chaotic entity ruling an allied realm. Special Agent Brand had done good things with SWORD, though, and Coulson was pleased that Fury had ended up going with his recommendation there.

“Agent Coulson,” she said. “Agent Brand wants to know if the list you sent over yesterday is final.”

“As far as I know, those are all the people who have indicated they wish to attend the wedding. Doctor Foster has said she’ll keep me updated if there are any stragglers.”

“There are over one hundred names on this list…”

“Then you’ll have to work to get them vetted and get their info packets out.”

“The wedding’s in a month—“

“You’ll have to work _quickly_.”

“Yes, sir.”

He navigated a string of other interruptions, finished his shortlist for a second team, and uploaded the information to SHIELD’s main server with a flag for Director Fury. Then Coulson turned his attention to the thousand other tasks that needed to be completed hours before the shift change, glad for the quiet time. Sometimes, there was something to be said about living where you worked; he maintained an apartment in Bethesda, Maryland, but was rarely there even when he had vacation time (and Human Resources had mandated that he actually _use_ it). There was more for him at work now than there had ever been there.

When the shift changed – a soft alarm pinging through the halls, rather than a bell or klaxon, someone’s idea of not startling the agents – Coulson was on his second cup of coffee and making his way to the command deck. The hallways were packed with agents, those coming on and off shift, and everyone stepped aside politely for him with a murmured _sir_ or _Agent Coulson_. He nodded to the ones he knew. It helped to keep up good relationships; people became more efficient and kept their morale up more easily in a job that could easily wear someone down.

Fury was already there when he walked in, and Coulson paused at the doors, watching the director pace up and down, looking into the pits to either side. Fury seemed aloof, but over their years of association, Coulson knew it wasn’t so. Fury cared for his people, sometimes too much, and appearing separate was how he kept himself from taking it too harshly if something happened to any of them.

“Director,” he said at last. Fury turned and walked up the ramp, gesturing to the conference table. They both took seats.

“How’s my team, Coulson?”

“No word from Asgard, though they’re due to make contact today. We’ll know more by 0930, when their messenger, or someone, is scheduled to show at the fountain. Romanoff, Banner, Rogers, and Thor remain in Stark Tower. Banner is apparently very busy.”

“Someone’s been accessing secure files,” Fury said. He flicked the report from IT over to Coulson. “About the Tesseract research we don’t have.”

That made Coulson pause. “Did they find anything?”

“Nothing to find, Coulson.”

“Right. So why?”

“They looked up information on our guest. Wanted to know where he’d been, who he’d been seen with.”

“What do you think they’re doing, Director?”

“Nosing around. That’s what they do.” Fury leaned back. “Make sure Genie is secure, and then depending on what we hear from Asgard, we may want to pay a visit to Stark Tower.”

“Stark won’t like you going in there without him around, sir.”

“I don’t really give a damn.” Fury tapped more icons. “You finished the roster for the west coast team.”

“Yes, sir. Most of the ones you suggested are on there, though I don’t think they’ll work out. Hill will need to vet them when she makes her final selections.”

“Hill understands that she needs a varied team.”

“But… Spector, sir?”

“Potential, Coulson. That’s what this list is about – what the original Initiative was about too.” Fury rubbed a hand over his head, looking very tired for a moment. Coulson waited, watching. He knew how much SHIELD meant to Nick Fury. He knew the toll it took all too well.

The moment passed, and Fury sat back in his chair. “Next.”

*

“Victor Von Doom?” Tony tossed a folded letter back onto the table. “Are you _kidding me._ ”

After a brief exchange with an irritable Loki, they had gotten the papers from Rolfgar’s encampment and retreated to a comfortable reading room. The low table and most of the floor and couches around them were covered in letters and orders – and they’d read every single one.

Clint set his paper down, thoughtful. “SHIELD’s been keeping tabs on him. He hasn’t done anything lately, but I remember reading he’s been taking on a lot of physicists.”

“Physicists who’ve probably read the Foster theory papers.” Tony sighed and ran his hands through his hair. “They found some kind of power source. Or else managed to jury-rig one – I was doing calculations once, because I couldn’t sleep and I had some _really_ good coffee—and it’s _possible._ ”

“To make a connection between Earth and Asgard with something that isn’t a glowy blue thing?”

“Or blowing yourself up. Either way, they’ve obviously managed to figure out how to move between worlds, and now everyone’s enemies are buddies.”

“When we get back I’ll check up on what SHIELD has on Doom—“

“I got this.” Tony pulled his phone out of a pocket and began tapping away on it. Clint raised an eyebrow.

“Don’t tell me you get service.”

“Don’t be a smartass and I won’t.” Tony made a face as he tapped a command. “I went snooping around SHIELD’s servers and pulled anything that looked interesting.”

“You _hacked_ SHIELD?”

“Don’t say hacked, _nobody_ says hacked anymore. I just took things that I thought were important to the continuing success of the Avengers.”

“Yeah, okay.” Clint leaned over, though. “What’s it say? If all that’s on the file is something like _call Dr. Richards’_ —“ Text started scrolling across the screen and Clint sighed, rubbing his temples. Tony waved the phone at him.

“Up for more reading?”

*

After the healers had checked his leg over again and watched him walk stiffly back and forth across the room, they had released Loki from their care. Knowing of his recent stint in the Healing Rooms (and perhaps seeing the determined set of his face), most of the courtiers who would have approached their king stayed out of his way as he walked, for which he was very glad. He reached the royal chambers unmolested and with a much stronger and less shaky leg, and pushed open the door.

“Sif?” Loki called into the receiving room. It was darker than usual, the fire banked for the daytime and the ambient light of the palace dimmed. He crossed the room and pushed through to the bedchamber itself – and a knife whistled through the air close enough to clip a few hairs from the side of his head. It buried itself in the _metal_ wall, quivering there as he watched it.

“ _Sif_ ,” he said again, with much more trepidation.

“Am I not _worthy?_ ”

He could barely make out her head and shoulders above the couch; the light from outside silhouetted her body, but he caught the glint of metal in her hand and wondered if he could cast a spell fast enough to get out of the way of her next blade. “Worthy of what?”

“To guard my _king_. Am I no longer worthy to carry out my duty?” She stalked toward him and, traitorously Loki could not help but savor the image of a Sif on the hunt, her eyes narrowed and muscles tensed. She was more of his own nature then, less controlled, and he could not help but—

“Pay _attention_. Am I not _suitable_ for your guard?”

Loki put his hands up in front of him, taking slow steps toward where she stood now, quivering on the balls of her feet with all her fury showing on her face. “Sif, you know you have proved yourself more than worthy—“

He had to duck as she threw the blade in her hand, clattering to the floor somewhere behind him. There were more in her hands and they went spinning by as punctuation for her words. “Then _why_ ,” she hissed through clenched teeth, “Do you insist on going without me for protection? _Why_ go without me at your back?”

“I do not—“

“Why else, other than a _deficit_ of some kind—“

“You lack for nothing, Sif, and I feel no safer than when I am with you.”

“Then _why?_ ” Her hands empty, Sif grabbed his tunic and yanked him in close. Her eyes were narrowed green-brown slits, but before he could look too deeply into them she had hauled his mouth down for a kiss. It was teeth and tongue, fear and anger and passion, but Loki had barely brought his hands up to grasp her when she thrust him away. He took a breath.

“I did not want Asgard to lose both its rulers at once. If Asgard lost you, Sif – if _I_ lost you—“

“Do not dare, Loki.” Sif’s voice was harsh, and his eyes grew heavy with it. She reached out – to strike at him or to grasp him he wasn’t sure, but he intercepted her hands first. Sif still pulled him close again. “I make my _own_ choices. _I_ choose to walk beside you.” Her eyes, so flinty hard on his own, seemed to change. “After you nearly died before, after I sat by your side not knowing if you would return to us or go on to Valhalla… that is something I would not ever wish to go through again. Do you think I would not grieve as deeply as you would if I were I to fall protecting you?” Her voice had quiet. “Do you think Sif would be the same without Loki?”

Loki released one of her hands, touching his fingertips to her cheek. The feeling of being _wanted_ was one he had yet to get used to and, though he had since realized that much of his bitterness was unwarranted (thanks in no small part to exasperated assurances from the woman before him), it never ceased to thrill him. In the midst of a fiery war he had laid himself bare to Sif and had not been rebuffed. Secrets were things he kept close, but having someone who knew most of them was not unpleasant.

Sif tipped her cheek into his palm more, her hands coming to rest on the leather of his coat. Never still, her fingers fidgeted with the lapels, straightening and folding between the layers of his clothes. With a sigh, Loki let his head fall forward, resting their foreheads together.

“I know you would not be the same,” he replied. Honesty thickened his tongue, but by the way her fingers stilled in their nervous motions, it worked with her. “I know, Sif.”

“Then, next time – and I know there will be a next time – I am with you. We go together, Loki.”

“I suppose I would be foolish to think I could persuade you otherwise?”

“Very much so.”

Loki sighed, but Sif’s fingers had crept up his throat to rest along his jaw and his thoughts turned. She did have a way of blazing into the fray, a sight _very_ pleasing to behold…

“Together, then,” he said. “Not that I think I could stand in your way. I learned that you are a force to make the Nine Realms themselves shake _long_ ago.”

“See that you don’t forget it.” Sif paused, but stretched up and kissed him. She was still tense beneath his hands and Loki would not fool himself into thinking all was forgiven, but it was enough for him to push his hands into her hair and hold her in the kiss.

And then double over, all the air gone from his lungs, when her fist connected with his abdomen.

“What,” he managed to wheeze. Sif had her arms crossed, glaring down at him again, though he took comfort in the fact her eyes weren’t as hard as they’d been when he’d walked in. “Were the knives not enough?”

“You may be of different blood,” she told him, “But it makes little difference, for you are as stubborn as your father and your brother. Remember how that felt, husband, and you will know how _I_ felt when Heimdall told me he delivered you from Jotunheim with ice in your leg and your blood scattering across the stars from your wounds.”

She stalked past him. Loki heard her yank her knife out of the wall and the soft patter as she scooped up the rest on her way out, and felt the force of her slamming the door behind her in his bones.

*

“Yes, Madam Ambassador,” Darcy said as she stepped onto the elevator in Stark Tower. “No, I absolutely apologize. Unfortunately there’s nothing I can do—“

She had to hold in a sigh as she was treated to another polite tirade, and shifted her case into her other hand as the elevator began to rise. She’d been fielding calls like this since Loki and Sif had run back off to Asgard, and it was beginning to get really, _really_ annoying. Had it been beyond one of them to let her know when they had cosmic crises to deal with? Didn’t they know that most countries ignored her in favor of getting a chance to shake hands with actual alien royalty?

“I’ll have a message relayed as soon as possible,” she said. “And should you have any further questions, please feel free to direct them to my office in New York City. I speak with the authority of the King and Queen in these matters—no, I understand, Madam Ambassador,” Darcy said more forcefully than necessary. “No, I will make sure Their Majesties understand as well. Good afternoon.”

She thumbed her phone off at last and stuffed it in her pocket, leaning back against the glass of the window. Fifteen floors was enough time, she thought. Setting her case down, Darcy took a deep breath and screamed as loud as she could.

When she’d finished, it was only to dissolve into hysterical giggling when the speaker in the elevator chimed softly and JARVIS asked, “Are you all right, Madam Ambassador?”

“I’m fine,” Darcy replied, choked out between fits. “I’m totally underqualified for this job, but I’m fine. Just. Is there any of that ice cream left in the fridge in the common room?”

“There is. I made sure that it was on the order list, Madam Ambassador.”

“You can really just call me Darcy, JARVIS.”

“I’m afraid my programming prevents that, Ambassador Lewis.”

“I’m getting sassed by a computer.” Darcy ran a hand over her face. “No word from Asgard?”

“None yet, though sensors indicate a building charge in the upper atmosphere heralding imminent Bifrost activity. Dr. Foster is in the lab monitoring it.”

Confused, Darcy set her case down on one of the tables in the common area and scooped out two bowls of ice cream before heading back down to the lab. Jane was seated at one of the computer terminals, watching the rise and fall of sensor readouts coming in from SHIELD’s satellites. Darcy had spent long enough staring at those same kinds of screens to know that what she was looking was, technically, no longer part of Jane’s research. That was probably why Jane’s eyes had completely unfocused too and why she hadn’t noticed that Lena was very busy trying to work out how to get out of her gated play area.

“’sup?” she said loudly, setting the bowl of ice cream down in front of the astrophysicist. Jane twitched and nearly put her elbow through the bowl, but rescued it and swiveled her chair around, reaching for her friend.

“I’ve missed you,” she said when Darcy went in for a hug. “How’s it going?”

Darcy leaned over the playpen and gently pulled Lena’s fingers off the latch of the gate, setting the baby back down on her blanket. “I’m _not_ qualified, I have people calling me wanting to talk to the _aliens_ all day, and _nobody_ takes me seriously.” She rubbed her forehead, tipping her head back and putting the bowl of ice cream on top of it. “This _sucks_ and was not what I had in mind for my life direction.”

“I don’t know, I think you’ve been doing pretty well so far.” Jane tucked her legs up and balanced her own bowl on her knees as she dug in. “Loki might have picked you to upset Fury, but you haven’t caused an interplanetary incident yet, so…”

“If people keep calling and demanding to know where they are…”

“Isn’t it _not_ your job to manage their appearances?”

“It isn’t, but guess who gets the fallout when they run off out of the galaxy?”

“ _Careful,_ ” Jane warned, watching the ice cream on Darcy’s spoon slide toward the edge. She was better-funded than some countries, but that didn’t make her less protective of her equipment.

“I’m just… overwhelmed, Jane. I’m panicking. I didn’t get a political science degree to help represent a planet of immortal people. I don’t even know what I’m _doing_ half the time, and I’m… afraid, I guess, of messing up.”

“You haven’t yet.” Jane reached over and took Darcy’s hand with a small smile. “And if you do, guess what? Everyone else makes mistakes too. You learn and you move on. Though it’s really easy to just say that when I’m not the one feeling like you are… well, not about the same things.”

“Thanks, though.” Darcy scooted her chair over and leaned her head against Jane’s shoulder. “I guess messing up as a parent is a little scarier.”

“I think the worst thing either one of us has done is let her cry a little bit too long.” Jane cast a fond look in Lena’s direction, but Darcy could see there was something else behind her expression. Jane glanced back, saw Darcy’s eyebrow raised, and sighed.

“I’m not good at hiding things, am I?”

“You’re staring at data you’ve already won awards for.”

Jane swiveled her chair back to look at the monitor, leaning on her elbows as she stared at the display again. “Just thinking about… all this that’s going on.”

“About Thor?”

“Well, yes, but…” Jane ran a hand through her hair and then rested her head in it. “I can’t figure out _why_ or _how_ that thing Von Paselk had registered radiation that was comparable to the Tesseract’s. Nobody but SHIELD had access to what spectra we’d read for it, and all that data was turned over to Asgard when we made the treaty.” She tapped a few icons on the screen, her face screwing up. “I mean, all this supposes that SHIELD was completely honest and really did turn over all their information, which is wishful thinking at _best_ , but they’ve managed to be more on the level with me lately, so… hopefully they don’t want to screw up interplanetary relations.”

“C’mon, Jane.” Darcy scraped her spoon along the bottom of her bowl. “Thing One and Thing Two do that just fine on their own.”

“No kidding. And putting Thor into the mix with both of them—“

“Mutually-assured destruction.”

“Pretty much.”

“I guess now’s a bad time to talk to you about wedding protocol things, huh?”

Jane groaned. “There’s a reason I’m going to Asgard a month early. Loki and Sif and I are going to sit down and work it out, but my head’s _already_ hurting. Do you know I’ve been given _lands_ , Darcy? I am a _landed noble_ because the rules of their house prohibit one of Odin’s line marrying anyone who isn’t.”

“I know, Jane.” Darcy patted her friend’s hand and listened to her rant. Jane had wanted a small wedding and so had Thor, but when Loki had found out and started airily talking about the rules of the House of Odin regarding marriages… _At least I’ve gotten some staff from Asgard to help me work out protocol details._

“I never thought I’d be kept up at night by anything but if the grant proposal I just sent off would be taken seriously. Now I wake up to feed Lena and start worrying about _successions_ and…” she waved her hand. “I’m hoping it goes away once the wedding’s over because my head’s already full.”

Darcy knew she’d regret asking – she’d picked up some astrophysics but it really wasn’t her area, and getting Jane talking about her research was a good way to get in over her head – but she asked anyway. “Planning something new?” 

Jane grinned. “Something _big_.” She tabbed away from the atmospheric data displays. “Let me explain…”

*

“Okay, here’s a question,” Steve said, cutting through multiple discussions going on around the conference table. “ _Why?_ ”

Noise stopped as everyone looked over. The Asgardians had arrived late last night, with Tony and Clint in tow; there was a weird tension between Sif and Loki that Steve couldn’t read in anything but their body language, in the way Sif would reach for her husband’s wrist but suddenly withdraw, in the glances that Loki would cast her way when she wasn’t looking. Then again, everyone was tense now after the four of them had delivered what they’d learned.

“Why _what?_ ” Tony asked.

“Why is Victor Von Doom helping out the Frost Giants,” Clint murmured. He was tense, too, arms crossed as he leaned against one of the walls. “That’s what’s got you too, huh?”

“He gets access to Jotunheim’s magic,” Loki said, but his brow was furrowed too. “But then—“

“What does Jotunheim get out of it?” Thor was leaning on Jane’s chair, his hands braced on the back of it, bracketing her shoulders. He’d been quiet the whole time, occasionally leaning over to exchange whispered words with Jane at points.

Natasha had been quiet too, studying the materials before her on her display. “What is it they need?”

“Their planet’s a dump,” Tony said. “They need a new one.”

“You didn’t even _go_ ,” Clint told him. “You went with us to the creepy elf planet.”

“I read about Jotunheim!”

“That’s not the same—“

“Can we focus?” Steve waited until everyone had settled, then raised his eyebrows at Thor. The Asgardian had been talking to Jane again while the others were fussing. She touched his hand and nodded up at him, and Thor drew a breath.

“Father took the means Jotunheim had of moving between realms,” he said. “The Casket of Ancient Winters is under guard and spell in the heart of the realm, safe—“ and though his eyes flickered to Loki, who was not looking at Thor and instead very intently studying the knuckles of his left hand, Thor did not hesitate long “—and out of their reach. Which perhaps means that they are seeking alternatives with the elves and this Doom, rather than continuing to rely on Asgard’s sufferance and use of the Bifrost.”

“After all,” Jane said, “Everything we know about the Frost Giants indicates that they’re powerfully magical, and who’s to say they’re not trying to recreate the Casket, or some other means of travel, just like Earth is trying to do?”

“Not that you need to,” Loki muttered. Nobody paid attention to him, save Sif, who gave him a chilly stare. “The elves are liaisons for Jotunheim, and they stand to gain the ability to overthrow their queen and take power. They get an entire realm indebted to them by doing something quite simple.”

“And Doom?”

“Resources,” Bruce supplied. “R&D support. From what I’ve been told, Jotunheim doesn’t have much in the way of raw material apart from their magicians—“

“Sorcerers.”

“—whatever. Either way, what we’ve got on Doom seems to indicate he’s got some talent in that area.” Bruce tapped a couple things on his screen and the projectors down the center of the table lit up, the lights dimming as maps and data appeared. Dots all over Europe appeared, blinking as callouts scrolled data beside them. 

“This is what I’ve been able to put together over the last day or so,” he said. “I used recorded emission patterns and mapped out areas where these same emissions were detected. Using information about Doom, we eliminated all but the most likely places for a clandestine facility. Basically, any of the three places inside Latveria.” Bruce tapped another icon and the map shifted, zooming in on a region east of Doomstadt. “Of these three, the one with the highest and most recently registered spikes in both emissions and personnel movement is this one.”

The other two dots faded, leaving one several miles outside of the city. It appeared to be in the middle of a large lake in the mountains. “What is it?” Steve asked, studying the map. “An island?”

“There’s a cave system under the lake,” Natasha said. “We’ve got reconnaissance saying it’s fairly extensive. Enough to hide a laboratory complex, anyway.”

“I thought SHIELD wasn’t allowed to do so much as sneeze in the general direction of Latveria?”

“This information doesn’t come from SHIELD. We contract with various groups, occasionally. One of them happened to have more experience with Doom than we do.”

“Did they say anything about defenses?” Sif asked, leaning forward. Steve watched her eyes rove over the mountainous terrain, the single entrance to the cave complex. No side entrances here; if there were any alternate ways into the complex, they weren’t marked or were buried under the rock, tunnels perhaps. “Guards? Does this Doom keep a force there?”

“Yes, to all three questions. It’s nothing we can’t get through on our own – Doom’s smart and fortified a couple other labs that he thinks we know about, drawing attention away from this one so that it doesn’t look like it’s at more manpower than usual. But the forces he has there are pretty powerful robots, or something...”

“I’ve got robots covered,” Tony said. “If it’s not made by me, it’s probably crap anyway.”

Loki eyed him from down the table. “Such _humility_.”

“You’re one to talk, _how_ many—“

“Stop it.” Sif’s voice was sharp, and Steve could see her knuckles whiten as her fingers dug into Loki’s wrist. “There are more pressing matters.”

“The lady speaks,” Tony said, breaking the silence that descended after that. Sif kept her gaze on Loki for a moment before lifting her hand away. He didn’t look at her at all. “So. Plans?”

“We’ve got to get into that cave complex. Once we’re in there, I think we have two goals – get information, and stop whatever they’re doing.”

“That’s not going to be easy. The terrain is bad, the place is guarded…” Clint gestured to the approach to the entrance. “There’s no good way to even plant an arrow on the door to blow it. Wind shear off these cliffs is going to be a bitch, the angle’s all wrong to—“

“If we can get in,” Natasha said, “I shouldn’t have much of a problem getting whatever information is stored on their computers.”

“Just a thought,” Tony said, “But anything that can get the freaky robots away from the freaky underground death trap villain lair would be _swell_.”

“A distraction?”

“Textbook, preferably.”

“Would visiting royalty be enough?” Everyone turned to look at Loki, who couldn’t quite compress his mouth on a smirk in time. “I admit I am curious to meet the one audacious enough, or perhaps lacking in creativity enough, to call himself Doom.”

“And were you planning on going alone?” Sif asked. Her tone of voice alone was enough to make everyone exchange glances around the table, enough for Thor to wrinkle his brow in worry. “For certainly you haven’t discussed this intention with me, husband.”

“I had thought to put it off.” Loki waved a hand, but he was watching Sif carefully as well. “How circumstances change. Of course, a visit of state from Asgard would hardly be the same without her queen.” Something like wary approval flitted across Sif’s face before she sat back in her chair again, and Loki pressed on. “We two can be very distracting, wouldn’t you agree, sweet wife?”

“Very distracting,” came the reply. Sif’s voice was wry, but had a bite to it, and those in the room looked at each other again.

“That would work,” Steve said, before the silence could stretch on this time. “It’d draw Doom’s forces into Doomstadt, hopefully. He’d want a show of power for visitors. Avengers, I’ll consult with SHIELD and find an insertion point for us. Tony, I know you were working on stealth modifications to the quinjets. Do you think you could get something together in the time it takes for the helicarrier to get to Europe?”

“ _Please_ , Cap. I’ll have it done before we hit Portugal.”

“Natasha, you know what to do?”

She was already getting up from the table. “I’ll get my gear together.”

“Clint?”

The archer sighed and slid off the back of his chair where he’d been precariously balanced. “I’ll start looking at that approach. Maybe I’ll find something.”

“Thor, in case he can’t, you and Bruce will be the ones to get those doors open for us. Everyone else know what they’re doing? Good. Be ready to go.”

*

“I would have _liked_ to have an idea of your plan,” Sif was saying as they descended the stairs to the common area of the Stark Tower penthouse. “I have not heard pleasant things about Doom, and if he is working with Rolfgar, then he is no friend of Asgard.”

“I _know_ he is no friend of ours, Sif. But he would not be the first enemy to turn ally.”

“I do not think he would.”

“Fortunately, that isn’t the point.”

“At least you are allowing me the _privilege_ of going with you,” Sif muttered irritably.

Her words bit deeply at Loki. “I never intended to keep you from this, Sif. I will need you with me.”

“Now you admit to it.”

“I never _denied_ it.”

“You refuse to include me on these little trips you take, and then—“

“ _You._ ”

Both of them stopped, looking in surprise at where Darcy stood in front of the elevators, Lena on her hip and one finger pointing straight at Loki, whose eyebrows had shot up.

“Me?”

“ _Both of you._ But mostly _you_.” She let Thor take Lena and advanced on Loki until she was poking his chest with her finger. “You _ran off_.”

“I had—“

“ _Don’t care._ Do you know how many calls a _day_ that I got because you two took off back to your planet? Do you know how many incidents you almost caused?”

“Do not interrupt your king—“

“Have you ever had a panic attack, Loki?”

“My—“

“Do you know what it’s like? Do you?” Darcy was jabbing the gold adornment on his chest with every other word, her eyes narrowed. “Because today is the first day I _haven’t_ had one since you both took off, and—“

“ _Darcy Lewis._ ” Loki’s voice had gotten low and soft, and at his side Sif straightened and shifted her weight. She knew Loki was at his most dangerous when he spoke in such a way, where he appeared to be totally calm. Darcy, perhaps, did not know, but Thor also stiffened, putting a hand protectively over Lena’s back.

Loki grasped her wrist in his hand, and though he did not grip too hard – not by Asgardian standards anyway – Darcy winced and stopped her harangue, looking at him with eyes gone suddenly round.

“You have autonomy here,” Loki told her, locking their eyes. “You have sound judgment, and Asgard owes you much. But do not think, not for a moment, that this puts you beyond reprisal. You are a citizen of Asgard, and you are bound to _me_ \- your _king_ \- and you will show me respect no matter how angry my actions make you.”

“Loki—“ Thor began, but stopped when his brother glanced at him, then back at Darcy.

“You do not rule, so you do not understand,” Loki continued. “But I assure you, Lady, the things I do are not without reason. If the leaders of this world do not wish to understand that themselves, in the tapestry of Asgard’s daily function it matters little, and it matters even _less_ to me.” He let go of her wrist, and Darcy let it drop. “It was not ideal for me to leave in such a manner,” he said at last. “And it fell to you to smooth matters out, and by all accounts you handled it admirably. But do not think to behave toward me again as you did now. I appointed you to this position out of admiration for talents you did not yet appreciate and for your candor in speaking to me, but you must realize that I have limits to my _tolerance_ , and I do so hate having to admit I am _wrong_.”

“I—“ Darcy took a shuddering breath. “I’m sorry. Your Highness.”

“Apology accepted.” Loki seemed to shift, and his normal demeanor was back in an instant. “Now, there is a matter I need you to attend to. How quickly will you be able to arrange matters with Latveria for a visit of state?”

“Latveria?” Darcy was still shaky, but recovering quickly. “Why would you want to go _there_ , Doom’s a crazy mad scientist dictator.”

“So I’ve been told. I want to meet him.”

Darcy looked at Sif, who shrugged. “I am reasonably certain I can keep them from colluding to overthrow the planet,” she said. “It is an urgent matter, Darcy. Can you do it?”

“I—I can. Yeah, I can do this.” Darcy smoothed her hair back, taking deep breaths. “Yeah. I’m going to go… do that.”

“And tell me as soon as it is arranged.”

“I will.”

Darcy shakily went off in the direction of her room. Sif rounded on Loki and seemed about to say something, but just shut her mouth, gave him a disgusted look, and stormed off. Loki watched her go, heard the door slam behind her, and pressed his lips together in a thin line.

“I will never understand her,” he said to Thor, trying to make it light and joking. It was bitter in his mouth, though, and he was moving too – away from Darcy and Sif and the darkness of his thoughts.

*

Darcy set the phone back in its cradle and sighed, running her hands over her face. She’d gotten through the layers of bureaucracy at the Latverian embassy and had been informed that she’d receive a call with a decision in a few hours’ time. Apparently, when told that extraterrestrial royalty wanted to make an official visit, certain pathways were opened. 

Heaving herself up out of her chair (she’d insisted on a _very_ comfortable one, given that she spent a lot of time in it), Darcy made her way out of her office and out to the elevator lobby. Someone, somewhere, was always awake around the penthouse of Stark Tower; between shift schedules and lab-induced insomnia, it had been a group decision to put in for the _really good_ coffee. Darcy could have probably paid for her own supply – her stipends arrived in the form of _gold_ and she had plenty of money – but she’d decided early on that mooching off her buddies upstairs was the better and more efficient option. Also, all her good mugs were already up there. Something about having a Grumpy Cat coffee mug on a video conference call with other ambassadors just wasn’t dignified.

What also wasn’t dignified was how she wanted to turn and run right back into her office when she saw who was in the elevator. But this wasn’t a swirly death cloud or a war or anything. This was just… a complication.

Something must have shown on her face, because as she got into the elevator, Clint looked at her strangely. “Do I smell or something?”

“Yes,” Darcy told him. “You reek.”

“Reek, reek, it rhymes with…”

“If you’re going to talk about fucking Game of Thrones, I’m stopping the elevator and _taking the stairs._ ”

“I thought you liked it?”

“I do. But you’ve never known fear until you’ve watched your creepy alien boss read the Red Wedding and get mad enough to throw the book _through_ a window.” _Or until he does that thing where he gets all quiet and murderous._

“So that’s what the cardboard was for.”

“Yup.”

They were silent for a couple floors. _Twelve more to go,_ Darcy thought. _Don’t bring it up, please don’t bring it up…_

“We need to talk.”

_Goddamn it, Clint._ “We’ve been talking. Right? That’s what we’ve been doing, right? Making sounds with our mouths…”

“Darcy,” he said, and the tone of his voice made something in Darcy curl pleasantly, and _damn it._

“We were drunk and it was Christmas and everyone else was in bed.”

“We _weren’t_ drunk.”

“I…” she sighed. “Look, I’m flattered, and it’s not that I don’t _want_ to, but…” she made a really vague gesture with her hand, and when Clint didn’t respond, Darcy began to panic a little. “Okay so you know how in _The Princess Diaries 2_ when Mia gets the hots for Chris Pine’s character but she’s engaged to that other guy because of politics, so instead of marrying the noble guy and regretting everything, she just—“

“Are you saying you’re engaged to a nobleman?”

If he hadn’t had that slight shift in his tone of voice (and how did she _know_ in the first place) that told Darcy he was mostly joking, she’d have punched him right in his perfect and outrageous arms. “I’m saying that we’re just… on different paths.”

“What the fuck does _that_ mean?”

“It means… ugh, Clint, don’t make me spell it out, I’m no good at this.”

He followed her out of the elevator. “I’ve heard you wrangle politicians on the phone. You’re better than you give yourself credit for, and I’m smarter than anyone thinks I am. _Try me._ ”

“It means…” Darcy leaned against the counter. The coffee must have been put on not long ago, because it was still percolating, and there wasn’t enough to fill the cup she pulled out of the cabinet nearby. _My life. Fuck it._

“Well?”

“It means that you’re… you know. Flying around the world, shooting the bad guys full of arrows, putting yourself in harm’s way… that’s what _you_ do.”

“So… what? You keep refusing dinner because of my _work_?”

“I keep refusing it because I see what it does to Jane, and Thor’s not even back to being a full-time Avenger. You’re always out – with the others, on something for SHIELD. I can’t be the princess in the tower waiting for you to come back, Clint. I _won’t_ be.”

Clint stared at her as though she had three heads. “And _why_ do you think that’s how I see you?” he asked finally, slowly.

Darcy pushed her cup around the countertop, fidgeting so she hid how much she was fighting off the urge to scream. “…Because.”

“Oh, _come on_ \--“

“Look, if I ever change my mind, I’ll fucking _tell_ you, okay?” Shouting felt good after the tension of the last few days and after her close encounter of the angry trickster god kind. “But get out of my face about it!”

She stormed off, ignoring Clint when he called after her, and it wasn’t until she was back at her desk that she realized she hadn’t even gotten her coffee.

*

“So.”

Loki glanced up at where Thor had been sitting for the last half an hour. He’d come down here to the lab after handing Lena off to Jane, who had scowled at Loki and asked that he go over her calculations and “offer suggestions” which was her polite way of telling him she had no patience for his usual mockery. Wisely, Loki had simply agreed. He was bored with arguing constantly, and the runes and mathematics were much easier to comprehend than the ire of his wife.

But Thor had followed him down here, obviously waiting for Loki to notice him and say something. A few times he’d coughed too loudly, or deliberately made his chair squeak, but Loki had ignored him in hopes of making him go away. Alas, his efforts had apparently been futile.

“What do you want?” he asked at last, glancing up from his screen.

Thor brightened at being noticed, though he tried to remain solemn. “I wish to know what is the matter between you and Sif.”

“Nothing is the matter.”

“You realize I know you’re lying, Brother.”

“We _have_ become perceptive, haven’t we?” Loki muttered. “Has it occurred to you that it is between Sif and I?”

“I am brother to _both_ of you. She is unhappy, and so are you.”

He knew it, but _hearing_ it hit Loki hard. Sif had pried her way into his chest, opened his heart with her tenacity and her compassion, and knowing that she was discontent because of him was not a transgression he was quite willing to live with anymore. It made him uncomfortable, and so he snapped, “Why not ask her yourself?”

“Do you think she’d be any more forthcoming than you?”

“Probably not.”

Thor smiled. “I do know Sif, remember, and I mean to ask her. But I would speak with you both and have both sides of the story.”

Loki tapped a few sections of mathematics desultorily; they were perfect, as most of Jane’s work was, but he inverted them just to see what would happen. “There is no story to tell. We had a disagreement. I’m sure you have some with Jane.”

“About what?”

“How am I to know or care what you disagree with Jane about? I _don’t want_ to talk about it. Is that a difficult concept, Thor?”

His brother’s face fell slightly, but he didn’t relent. “How am I to aid the people of Midgard or learn to settle disputes on Asgard if I cannot help settle them among my own family? I _want to help_ , Loki.”

“There is absolutely nothing you can help me with.” Loki rested his palms on the benchtop to keep them from curling into fists. “There is _nothing_.”

“You really were a better liar once.”

“Now you insult me, too?”

“Not intentionally. I simply think that you and Sif have spent a lot of time together.” He caught Loki glaring at him and grinned briefly before sobering again. “I can see that something has come between the two of you, and Loki, I would flush it out for you if I could. I cannot finish it, but… I can offer aid and a ready ear.”

“ _You_ ,” Loki said slowly, “Want to _listen to me_.”

“You are not the only one changed lately, Brother.” Thor watched Loki carefully. “She makes you happy, does she not? Oh, don’t look at me like that, Loki – you know I will tell no one but Jane.”

“And Jane will tell Darcy, and from there the entire world will know.”

“I am your brother, and I swear on my mighty hammer that I will help you maintain your façade of indifference.”

“Oh, on your _hammer._ ”

“Brother, I would give my own _life_ if it meant seeing the peace you have attained within yourself preserved.”

Loki stared at him a long moment. To his credit Thor didn’t squirm, but his brows drew down. “Would you,” Loki murmured. “Would you, indeed?”

“I will swear it if that makes you feel better.”

“Never mind what I feel about oaths and brothers.” Loki ran a hand through his hair, then reflexively smoothed the ends down. It was long and beginning to curl at the tips, and he meant to cut it, but Sif liked the feel of it in her hands, and Loki _liked_ having her hands in his hair. “She wishes for a child.”

“Oh,” Thor brightened considerably and nearly broke the chair in his excitement to get to Loki. “But that is _good!_ Why is that cause for an argument?”

“Because I am _not Asgardian_ , Thor!” Loki slammed his palms down on the bench and Thor jolted backward. “I am not of her blood! Who knows what could happen to her? Who knows if it is even _possible?_ And then what kind of life, what _ridicule_ would a half-breed child face? Will they lead a life like mine, always on the outside, never truly fitting in – not in Asgard, not in Jotunheim, son of _no realm?_ No,” he said, fingers finally curling against his hands. “I will not put Sif through that – I will not put a child through that. I will _not_.”

“Loki, you know not—“

“I can _guess._ ” Loki tasted bitterness on his tongue again. “I can see that Asgard’s acceptance of me is still tenuous, I can see that were there to be any _inkling_ of what I truly am I would be bound like an animal and paraded through the streets!”

“That is _not true_ ,” Thor rumbled. “I would not let it happen. Father and Mother would not let it happen. _Sif_ would cut the hands off anyone who tried – and do you not think you are being unfair to her, Loki, for women hold more sway over bearing children than you or I do, yes? If Sif wants to have children, she is not going to give up because you are _afraid_.”

“I am—“ Loki began hotly, but trailed off. He _was_ afraid, like a coward, afraid of his heritage and his true abilities and the blue skin that old magic hid in a lie. 

“Sif wants to take the risk, Loki,” Thor pressed, seeing his brother hesitate. “And you do her a disservice by acting as though she’s incapable of reaching her own decisions. Whether or not a child can come of your union is not in my knowledge.” He reached out for Loki, who flinched back. Thor let his arm drop. “But do not take away her choice or dismiss what she wants. I would have thought you knew Sif well enough by now to know that when she says she wants something, she means it.”

“Do you think I don’t?”

“Your actions say as much.”

“I cannot lose her, Thor.”

“If you continue as you are, you _will_ lose her, and I could not bear seeing what her departure would do to you – to _both_ of you. She is my sister as much as you are my brother, after all.” Thor lifted his hand, hovering it over Loki’s shoulder a moment before he let it fall, gripping tightly when Loki didn’t move away this time. “I would see both of you happy again,” he said quietly, squeezed once more, and left.

Loki stood there, lost in his own thoughts, until JARVIS chimed to get his attention. “The strategy meeting is about to begin, Your Majesty,” the AI said. “Shall I inform Captain Rogers that you are on your way?”

Loki pushed off the lab bench and did as his mother had instructed him, breathing until he saw the ghostly reflection of his face in the window become calm once more, allowing him to fit his mask back into place.

“Tell them I will be there,” he replied, and turned on his heel. The matter of Sif, and of children, could wait.


	5. Acceleration

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For Ann.
> 
> _acceleration;_ the rate at which the velocity of a body changes with time.

Through diplomatic string-pulling and a flurry of e-mails over the next day, Darcy was able to arrange a visit to Latveria. Victor Von Doom was only too happy to receive such illustrious guests, the messages said, and looked forward to impressing upon them the many virtues an agreement between Asgard and Latveria could bring. If it hadn’t been for a much better cause Sif felt certain she could have prevailed upon Loki to set aside these plans (and part of her wondered if perhaps they _weren’t_ better off just completing their quest rather than going through the whole song and dance of diplomacy), but as things stood, the delay and the planning gave her time to do some thinking of her own.

Over the course of their marriage, she had come to know her husband very well, perhaps better than she ever had in the thousand years preceding. Loki trusted her now, and though at one point she’d been hurt that he hadn’t trusted her before when they’d been questing and saving each other’s lives as a matter of course, matters had drastically changed. So, as she sat before the vanity in their rooms letting her handmaiden brush her hair, Sif let herself get lost in her thoughts.

She had been completely justified in the shouting match that had ensued once Loki had skulked back into their suite of rooms in Stark Tower. As much as she believed Darcy had stepped over the line Loki had terrified the poor woman, and Sif was loath for one of the few people who could tell Loki not to do something to lose confidence. What they had suddenly enlisted her to do for them was not in her usual realm of expertise and yet, like Sif had risen to the challenge of being queen, Darcy had stepped into the role of ambassador with only a few bumps along the way. After she’d had it out with him about it, Loki had stormed off again, gone to brood somewhere while they waited, and Sif had systematically cut one of the dummies in a room of training equipment to shreds.

When they had entered Latveria to great fanfare and had been shown around for several days, Loki had returned to their rooms one night and wordlessly presented her with a box which turned out to contain a magnificent pair of hair sticks. They were silver, a simple design worked round the wide end. 

“Less gaudy than usual,” she’d remarked, turning one over in her hands. Loki hadn’t responded until she’d felt the end slip up a little bit, and discovered the long, thin tubes were sheaths for deadly-sharp needles.

“You do not need jewels to be beautiful,” he told her, walking past as she examined the long, thin edges. “And weapons do not need Asgardian craftsmanship to be deadly.”

It was a less underhanded compliment than she normally got from Loki, but exactly the kind of indirect apology that she expected. She could still feel the tension in his body whenever she could not sleep and turned over to run a hand lightly over his back, through his hair, and she was still irked by the fact that he had run off without her, but there was nothing to be done about it. They had more important things to think about, and Sif did not like fighting with Loki, for all that it sometimes seemed like the only way they could understand each other. Either way, they both knew that Loki’s bullying of Darcy wasn’t the only reason they had fought.

Her handmaiden expertly tied up her hair and slid the sticks into it, then helped Sif into tonight’s gown. Her back felt chilly without either her hair or fabric to cover it, but the silvery silk warmed against her arms and legs, and when she rose to survey herself in the mirror, she could not help but smile. She looked every inch a queen, and when the object of the game was to have every eye on them, Sif felt confident that she could hold a room’s attention for a night.

And if she couldn’t, she had sharp objects to help her.

Loki was waiting in the outer room of their suite, his back to her when she emerged. While he’d worn Midgard suits on other occasions here, tonight he was in his full ceremonial armor, and Sif felt her pulse beat faster as she looked upon the long sweep of green cloth that fell from his shoulders, the way his hair curled out from under the tall curving horns of his helm.

“Surely we will be late if we do not leave now,” she said, and could not but smirk a little when he turned and was silent a beat longer than normal. Marital disputes aside, Sif _did_ love rendering the sharpest tongue in the Realms as dull as a child’s spoon.

“I believe in this realm the term is _fashionably late,_ ” Loki said at last.

Their guards held open the doors for them and Sif collected her skirt in one hand, letting the other rove across her torso, memorizing where she’d strapped her other knives. Four more of the royal guard fell in around them as they walked through deserted corridors. They dared not speak of anything, and so they kept silent, the only sounds the jingling of buckles and weapons and the swish of fabric.

The noise of the ball grew like a wave as they approached a set of doors. One of their guards went ahead and murmured quietly to an attendant, who stood before one of Doom’s metal men. Sif eyed the mechanical guard distrustfully. She’d wanted to set her blade against one and see if their bodies were any match for Asgardian steel, but had ended up considering the venture inadvisable.

“You look lovely tonight. That gown suits you well,” Loki murmured as they waited for the doors to open. He was not looking at her, but Sif knew that tone of voice.

“You say that of every gown I wear. How am I to know that you speak the truth?”

“I lie about many things, Sif, but my endless pleasure at your beauty is not something I see fit to be dishonest about.” He reached over as if to place his hand atop hers and instead she felt his fingers brush the stiletto she’d strapped to her arm under the sleeve of the gown. “And I certainly would not lie about your ability to kill things.”

Sif eyed him. “You would not?”

“I ought to know better, don’t you think?”

Sif had learned how to untangle the threads of the things her delightfully obtuse husband said when he did not want to be caught saying something outright, and gripped his arm a little more tightly. “You _can_ still learn,” she said idly, letting go of her skirts. “And here I was beginning to worry you were getting old and stuck in your ways.”

She felt him lean over, his warm breath on her skin as he spoke into her ear. “I always have new tricks,” he murmured. Then the doors opened and they were announced, and the game began.

Being queen, Sif was used to having all eyes on her. She had been even before that; being a shieldmaiden meant being a curiosity, a novel thing to gawk at. She had learned to endure the stares of a room, used her pride and her confidence as a shield, and though it was a different realm, the same held true here. The two of them were strange to these people, and Sif had learned a few things about putting on a show since she had come into her crown. So she put her chin up and pushed her shoulders back, every inch the proud warrior queen as she and Loki and their guard made their way up a clear corridor to where Victor Von Doom waited.

“Latveria has been honored by your presence,” Doom said, his voice strange and flat through his metal mask. “Doom is saddened to see you go.”

_No you aren’t,_ Sif thought to herself, but inclined her head slightly. 

The ball officially opened, clusters of guests drifted up to speak with them, and while Loki seemed engrossed in some conversation with Doom, Sif turned away to speak to another group. Not a few minutes passed before she felt a familiar hand pressed against the bare skin of her back, and Loki was smiling his trickster’s smile at the group.

“Keeping an eye on me, husband?” she murmured, once the conversation had finished. Loki’s fingers twitched against her skin.

“Our hailing from Asgard was not the only reason most of the eyes in the room were on you when we entered,” he said. 

Sif snorted. “Should I have chosen a less distracting gown?”

“That would have been a crime, my lady.”

*

Though she was outwardly calm, Natasha felt her heart rate go up as soon as the group of workers crossed the threshold of the base. It had been years since her first assignment with SHIELD and many more since she had been thrust into the shadowy world of espionage, but she never lost the rush she got from the start of a mission. If she ever did, Natasha thought, it might be time to retire and make a living teaching ballet.

“IT and Systems to the left!” one of the armed-to-the-teeth ‘bots called out, its mechanical voice managing to sound intimidating and hilarious at the same time. “Facilities to the right! Stay together! Touch nothing!”

Natasha stayed with the IT group. The woman she’d knocked out and locked in a closet ought to remain asleep there for several hours – more than enough time for Natasha to get to her post and pretend to work while running a script that would unlock every door in the compound at precisely two minutes to nine o’clock.

They were shown to a climate-controlled room full of banks of computers. To one side was a server room, the lights on the machinery inside blinking green and amber. Natasha slid into a seat before a console and rested her fingertips on the keys, waiting for the clock to tick over to the hour and the shift to start. There was a USB fob – almost all ceramics, and wedged between her breasts – that she’d need to fish out before she could get started. But there were only a few guards for the entire room, and each desk was partitioned off from the others so the workers couldn’t see what anyone else was doing.

Natasha heard a buzzer and the sound of a dozen sets of fingers beginning to type rapidly, and bent her head over her keyboard.

*

They had made the rounds once already, and now that everyone’s initial curiosity had been sated, those coming up to them had more serious questions. Sif and Loki had ended up back to back and a few paces apart, speaking to different groups, though as they shifted through the crowd they would brush against each other, touch each other’s hands or backs. It was soothing and steadying in a way Sif could not describe.

The group of men and women she was speaking to now were asking questions of the barriers she had overcome. They were journalists of some kind, trusted reporters for the state. For all that Sif knew that her answers would be fed into Doom’s propaganda machine, she was glad to answer them.

At one point, Sif happened to glance away, and when she did her eyes caught on a figure in one of the half-open doorways leading into other areas of Doom’s palace. The figure was hooded and cloaked, their face deep in shadow; they were clearly not a guest of the party, and not one of Doom’s usual guard.

“Queen Sif?”

She blinked, looking away from the doorway to respond to the question. When she looked back, the figure was gone, and Sif was left wondering if she had imagined it at all.

When next she and Loki managed to get a moment together, though, she asked him about it. Loki’s brow furrowed under the helmet.

“I have seen nobody here wearing a cloak,” he replied quietly, raising his glass to his lips to hide the words they formed. “One of Doom’s agents, perhaps?”

“They would not be near this ball. It would alert the guests, and I doubt everyone here is as loyal to their esteemed leader as they let on.”

“When is…”

“Soon,” Sif murmured. She brushed her fingers across Loki’s knuckles, moving away as another group started toward her.

*

There were no clocks in the room, and her computer had no time display, but one of the perks of working with Stark – other than the custom-made and high-quality tea – was that he could design almost anything if provided the right impetus. She flipped back the cuff on her sleeve, revealing a thin strip of clear circuitry and plastic, and read the time on the display. One minute to go.

Typing away with one hand, Natasha slipped a hand through one of the breast pockets of her uniform. She wore her stealth suit underneath, the front zipped down far enough for her to reach in and pull out the USB drive tucked away safely where nobody dared pat her down. Apparently even henchmen of megalomaniac dictators were afraid of sexual harassment lawsuits.

The thought made her smirk as she quietly slipped the drive into a slot on her computer and watched as a dialog box popped up on the screen. Now, she didn’t have to pretend to work hard.

Reaching up, she touched her flesh-colored earpiece, signaling the others.

*

“Right on time,” Steve breathed as his comm clicked. Every door in the lab would be open right now, and all they’d have to do would be walk up to the entrance and—

“Uh-oh,” Clint whispered. He had night-vision goggles on, watching the entrance and its approach. 

“ _Why_ ,” Tony muttered. “Why is it always _uh-oh_ with you?”

“Because what I’m looking at doesn’t give me warm fuzzy feelings for strolling up to those blast doors.”

“What’s going on?”

Clint relayed the situation. As it turned out, one of the guards at the doors – both were humans, not the ‘bots that Doom employed elsewhere – had noticed that the little indicator light on the electronic lock had gone from red to green, and had signaled his partner. They were both leaning over the lock now, examining it and trying their own cards.

“Oh,” Thor rumbled from behind. “That _is_ bad. Should we seek an alternative?”

“There aren’t any other ways in or out,” Bruce reminded him. “This is the only option we have.” He looked at Steve and Tony. “Should I…?”

“Not yet,” Steve replied, thinking quickly. “Hawkeye, the lock...”

“I’ve got a virus tip,” Clint cut in, figuring out what Steve was going for. “But it’s not loaded with anything useful, and I don’t even know if it’ll fit the lock, or if there’s anywhere to aim it, or if I could hit it from this angle.” He shifted, eyeing the approach to the doors in relation to their position. “I could just blast the doors open.”

“And have the whole base down on us?”

“Do we have many other options?” Clint reached up to finger the synthetic fletching on an arrow, lost in thought.

“So what’s your option?”

“Two shots.” Clint pointed two fingers at the guards. “Maybe ten, fifteen seconds and we’d be in.”

“Anyone else have any sneakier ideas?” When all that met him was silence, Steve nodded. “Do it.”

Clint’s bowstring sang twice in quick succession before he dropped back down into the rockfall they’d all taken cover behind, a faint buzzing noise echoing off the rocks.

“That is _so_ much cooler than a taser,” Tony said.

Steve peered out again. The two guards lay on the ground, twitching from the shocks the arrow tips had delivered to their systems. “Nice shooting,” he said. Clint just nodded to himself and grimaced, probably thinking about wind shear again as the group picked their way down the rocks to the unguarded door. One of the guards twitched as they were dragging the prone bodies into a locker off the main corridor, but neither of them came out of their electricity-induced stupor, and Tony used a quick pulse of energy from the repulsors in his palms to weld the door shut.

“Just like we talked about,” Steve said. “Dr. Banner?” 

Bruce had pulled a handheld version of the ESP detector out of his bag and was examining the screen, Tony leaning over his shoulder. “I’ve got a signal,” the doctor said tersely. “Let’s go.”

*

Natasha didn’t know anything had gone wrong until another guard came into the room and started whispering to those posted at its edges one by one. Keeping her head down, she watched out of the corner of her eyes as each one immediately straightened, looking around at the ranks of programmers. 

_Something’s happened_ , she thought. Either the tech whose place she’d taken had woken up ahead of schedule and started yelling, or the rest of the team had done something, or someone had noticed all the doors were unlocked. As much money as she wanted to put on the second option, it was more than likely the last one.

The guards started moving between the rows of computers, examining every tech’s face and badge, making them stand up and step aside so the guards could look at what they were doing. Natasha didn’t hurry, but finished her secondary objective, pulled out the USB drive and tucked it away, closed dialog boxes, brought up what she was supposed to be working on, but knew it wouldn’t be enough. The guards likely knew the faces of everyone who was supposed to be on shift, and all the falsified data in the world wouldn’t protect her. She pretended to keep working, tapping out commands and then cancelling them, watching the guards move around, getting closer and closer to her, until…

“Stand up.”

She did as asked, handing over her card and letting the guard look at her workstation. His eyes narrowed, and he examined her card again. Natasha kept her head down.

“Look at me,” the guard ordered. When she didn’t move, the guard grabbed her chin and forced her head up. When he got a look at her face, his eyes narrowed further.

“You aren’t supposed to be on this detail. Who are you? Answer!”

“I’m a temp,” Natasha said, and slammed the heel of her hand into his nose.

*

Loki had gone to get another glass of wine when he noticed it. Doom had been sitting away from the festivities, watching the proceedings from afar, but he was no longer alone. One of the attendants had come up to him and whispered something in his ear, something that had agitated him.

_Oh, that isn’t good at all,_ Loki thought, and looked around for Sif.

Doom rose and was following the attendant out of the room. Nobody else seemed to notice, or if they did, they were too practiced to do anything but glance out of the corners of their eyes and continue eating the food.

He found Sif when she broke away for a drink herself, and leaned over, brushing hair away from her ear. The very picture of an attentive husband – which he was, certainly – but he used the action to whisper into her ear. “Something has happened,” he said. “Doom has left the ball.”

“I saw,” she replied. “It is time, then?”

Loki nodded, and Sif slipped her hand through his arm as they drifted toward the edges of the room. When they had moved beyond the last circle of guests, Loki pulled her behind a pillar, and together they stepped into the shadows.

*

Things were not going well.

They’d been running along one of the corridors leading deeper into the lab when they ran into a very agitated group of guards. Apparently there had been some disturbance elsewhere in the lab, and they’d been on their way to render aid and run into the rest of the Avengers. The corridors weren’t big enough for Bruce to let out the other guy, but in their planning they’d realized they couldn’t just leave him at the entrance to act as rear guard because he was one of the only ones with the scientific knowledge necessary to figure out what it was they were looking at. So he’d had to huddle in a doorway, and, well… things just weren’t going all that great.

“Things aren’t going that great, Captain!” Tony shouted. He was down the corridor, blasting away at one of the Doombots that had accompanied the guards. “Hit it again, Thor—oh _yeah!_ ” The ‘bot, struck by some of the static electricity stored within Mjolnir, had short-circuited and fallen over like a limp doll. Tony did a little victory dance, which looked utterly absurd in the suit, at least until one of the guards who hadn’t been neutralized yet shot at him.

“We’ve got to keep moving forward!” Clint yelled. He swung his bow like a staff, cracking it over the skull of another guard. The man crumpled, and Clint jogged over to Bruce, putting an arm around his shoulders and ushering him on. “We’ll get pinned here otherwise.”

Steve put a hand to his earpiece. “Widow?”

A crackle of static, then Natasha’s voice came in loud and clear. “I’m heading toward your position now, Captain.”

“How do you know where we are?”

“I’m following the sounds of smashing.”

“…Great. Meet up with us soon.”

“I pulled a map from the computer database in the lab.” A grunt, a brief silence, then, “We’ve got some ground to cover.”

*

They reappeared in front of a huge set of doors set into the side of a low hill. The mud was churned up around the entrance from dozens of boots.

Sif pulled her skirts out of the mud, then opened her hands as the silver silk vanished out of existence, replaced by her leathers and armor. “If that dress is permanently ruined…” she muttered.

“Give the royal couturiers some credit,” Loki told her, holding out her glaive and shield as his ceremonial garb shifted and became his repaired battle garb. “If anyone can manage to remove mud from silk, it would be them. Knives?”

“Thank you.” Sif slipped them, one by one, into their slots in her armor. “I’m assuming you have a plan?”

“Of course I have a plan. Provided none of our esteemed allies have managed to get themselves killed, it might even go off perfectly.” Loki was eyeing the entrance so as soon as she was ready, Sif made a little motion with her hand and they slogged through the muck and into the underground base.

Once inside, it became readily apparent that the Avengers had already passed this way. Scorch marks, rubble, and downed guards marked their path. “It would seem they’ve taken all the fun out of this,” Sif remarked as they paused at a junction. The hallway they’d been jogging down dead-ended at a T, and Loki looked left and right as they took a moment to collect themselves. His eyes had a slightly faraway look, and Sif felt a tingling wash of magic over her skin – slight, but there.

“This way,” he said tersely.

“Is everything all right, Loki?” she asked quietly as they ran. Loki’s hands curled into fists.

“We’re getting closer.”

They ran on.

*

Natasha had rejoined them, but not before they’d all managed to end up in a dead-end lab room. Shards of a strange material that looked like glass but was cold to the touch and far more slippery covered the benchtops, and every time a burst of gunfire filled the room, pieces shattered and rained down on the Avengers as they took shelter.

“We have to get Banner out of here,” Steve shouted across the gap between the benches. Tony, being the only one who could really duck out and do some damage to their attackers, didn’t answer right away. “He can’t help in these confined spaces!

“I can have him upload the program we put on that jury-rigged field detector to my suit,” Tony said, thinking out loud. “My HUD can—“

“Uh—“ Clint had just fired off a shot, twisting and shooting from the ground, but hadn’t pulled back behind the lab bench. “Guys?”

“What now, Clint?” Tony shouted, then realized nobody was shooting. “Huh?”

“Why are you all back there?” Sif called out. Steve poked his head up above the lab bench, then stood when he saw it was safe for everyone. Sif was in the doorway, two guards slumped over with what looked like silver needles in their throats; her sword dripped blood, and her hair had come loose and hung in her face. She kicked aside one of the guards’ discarded weapons and stepped into the room, her boots crunching on the glasslike shards. “I think we got them all, did we not, Loki?”

Behind her, still out in the hallway, Loki was pulling one of his knives out of the throat of a guard. “Every last one, dearest wife,” he replied, passing his hand. “But we haven’t much time until more come. I suggest we get out of this area.”

“ _Excellent_ suggestion, husband.” Sif tilted her head back down the corridor. “This way.”

She fell in beside her husband at the rear of the group. Bruce jogged along right behind Steve, giving them directions, but by the time they’d made their way out of the dead-end wing and into a more promising corridor, they’d all begun to notice something strange – a charge in the air, a low hum and a throbbing and the smell of ozone. There had been no guards for a long time either. It all made Steve wary.

“Uh…” Bruce was looking at the detector, which was suddenly lighting up and beeping insistently. “Guys? Emissions are spiking.”

“What’s that mean?” Steve asked. Thor shoved one muscled arm up beside him; the fine hairs on the backs were standing up.

“Nothing good, I fear,” he muttered. “Loki?”

“You put it so well, what can I possibly add?” Loki edged toward the front watching down the corridor, and Steve had the mental image of an animal sniffing the air as it hunted its prey. “It is familiar,” he said quietly. There was the sound of metal sliding against metal as Sif came forward, watching ahead as he did.

“Loki?” she murmured. But Steve could tell Loki wasn’t listening, intent as he was on something he saw or sensed but that they did not.

“It’s coming,” Loki whispered, and then something hit them.

When he looked around he saw he wasn’t the only one who had staggered back a few steps. Loki was paler than usual, and even Sif and Thor’s ruddy complexions looked washed out and gray.

“What,” Tony said loudly, “Was _that_.”

“The source of Doom’s ability to move people and things from realm to realm, I imagine,” Loki replied. “This is beyond any of you—“

He was immediately drowned out by loud protests from everyone, for different reasons that ran from completely justifiable protests (Sif and Thor being the loudest of these) to the absurd (Clint, surprisingly). Though Loki tried to talk everyone down, after they’d wasted several minutes yelling at him he threw up his hands.

“Fine,” he snapped. “But only Sif and Thor will accompany me. The rest of you will make yourselves useful as distractions or agents of chaos or whatever it is your puny mortal hearts desire, so long as you stay out of our way.”

Further protests became grumbling, and eventually Natasha suggested they look for a way out that wasn’t back through the maze of corridors leading to the front entrance.

“It doesn’t make sense that there’s only one way in or out,” she said. “Doom’s smarter than that. And if we find it, we can stop any reinforcements from getting in.”

“It’s a solid thought,” Steve agreed. “Thor… just don’t get killed. I think Jane wouldn’t forgive any of us.”

“And the Nine Realms would perish for her anger,” Loki said. “Shall we actually be on our way, or are we all going to dawdle about until more foes come upon us?”

Leaving them to plan their side of things, the three Asgardians went deeper into the complex. Most of the guards had been drawn off by the Avengers’ initial attack, but they encountered groups of patrols still. Sif and Thor lunged forward, pressing the groups of guards back as Loki flung spells and knives from behind. Every so often one would whiz past and they’d flinch, but his aim was always true.

“How—much—farther—“ Sif ground out between thrusts of her sword. Loki flung two spells, hands whipping forward in a blur.

“We’re getting closer!” he replied breathlessly, already readying two more, his fingertips blazing light.

“I cannot summon lightning in here!” Thor shouted back. His hair whipped back and forth as he blocked two shots from the human guard he was facing and then flung Mjolnir. The guard took the hit in the chest and flew backward away from Thor, striking other guards and the wall until he hit the floor and skidded to a stop at the feet of…

“Oh, _damn_ ,” Sif heard Loki mutter behind her.

The metal guard strode forward, Mjolnir striking it in the shoulder and barely knocking it off balance. Thor held his hand out and the hammer flew back into his hand, but he didn’t charge, eyeing the thing apprehensively.

“Sif?” he asked.

Sif gripped her sword tightly. “Attack!” 

Thor ran forward, but a shout from his brother made him slow, half-turning. Loki’s hands danced with purple-white sparks, and he held them up, raising his eyebrows. They grinned at each other. The Avenger held out Mjolnir and Loki let his spell go, the lightning cracking across the hallway as it was drawn to the enchanted hammer, making the uru metal glow white.

Not wasting any time the moment Loki’s hands faded back into view, Thor spun. “Sif, _down!_ ”

She dropped to the floor and Thor leaped right over her, slamming Mjolnir into the metal guard’s chest and releasing its charge. It dropped, and they stood for a moment, catching their breath and watching it to make sure it didn’t get back up.

“Well,” Loki said smugly. “That was exhilarating. You can thank me later, Thor.”

He strutted past, a smug grin on his face. Sif rolled her eyes and moved after him. Thor lingered behind a moment, watching them.

_That is good,_ he thought, stepping forward—

—and hitting an invisible barrier with his face. 

Sif and Loki turned round at his cry of surprise and outrage. Thor slammed Mjolnir against the invisible barrier and was thrown backward – and struck a second barrier that had sprung up behind him. He snarled and scrambled to his feet in between them.

“What is this trickery?”

“Some kind of barrier, I would assume,” Loki replied dryly, but stepped forward, fingers stroking the air in front of him. A spark cracked between his fingertips and the air and he yanked his hand back, brow furrowed. “I could break it,” he said slowly. “It is no spell, however. Some kind of Midgard device, buried in the floor and walls.” 

“The mechanism for the trap must have been triggered by our passage.” Sif started to put away her sword. “Shut it off, Loki—“

“There’s no time,” Thor said, looking at the boundaries of the trap. “I will find a way out and rejoin the others. You must stop what is going on here.”

“Thor—“ Sif began, but he shook his head.

“Do not worry about me,” Thor said. “If Mjolnir cannot pierce these barriers, well… I doubt the floor and walls are so impervious.”

Loki started away again, but Sif lingered a moment, then put her fist over her heart. Thor mirrored the gesture.

“Go,” Thor said quietly. “Keep him safe.”

“I may be queen, but I was first a warrior of Asgard.” Sif gave her friend and brother a smile. “I will see my duty through to the end of time itself.”

She spun on her heel and followed her husband. Thor watched until she was out of sight around a curve, then looked around himself.

“How _will_ I get out of here?” 

*

The sounds of Mjolnir striking the walls and floor of the corridor receded behind them, but by the time they’d faded completely the hum of machinery and the tingling ozone taste of magic filled their senses. 

“What was it?” Sif asked as they crept along a gently curving hallway. “What was that… power?”

“The same as wounded you before,” Loki replied. Sif tightened her grip on her shield and sword. Most of her attention was forward, watching the corridor for any more traps like the one that had separated Thor from them; the effect was that of a predator stalking prey, and between her focus and her fluid walk, Loki had to tear his eyes away to watch.

“This is what that man wrought,” Sif murmured. Her teeth ground. “Because of all this, Jotunheim is on the brink of civil war and our allies are threatened in their own homes.”

“I will tend to Alfheim once we return to Asgard,” Loki began, but Sif waved her shield arm in a dismissive gesture.

“I have already seen to it and you needn’t worry yourself, not when you have so many other things to do.” She’d muttered the last part half under her breath.

“Less than I claim. There are many excuses for avoiding sitting in council with tedious old men.” Loki watched her, slowing and dropping in behind her when Sif paused and gestured for him to do so. “And none at all for my treatment of you.”

She half-turned her head, so he could see her cheekbone and nose in profile. “Is now the appropriate time for this?”

“Not at all. But I thought it important that you know.”

“Two apologies in one day,” she said. “Ragnarok must be upon us. Now, quiet down before they hear us.”

_They?_ Loki thought, and crept after Sif as she moved forward, blanketing both of them in a spell that would render them invisible.

The room this hallway opened out into was roughly circular, and seemed to be much less finished off as most of the bigger cave rooms had been; the stone walls here were rougher, dark with water seepage and glittering with crystals. The chamber was packed with a mix of human, Jotun, and – interestingly – elf guards. None of the groups seemed to be very friendly with each other, or at least they weren’t talking and mingling. Loki imagined that once they were presented a common target they’d work together just fine, but they didn’t have to pretend they liked each other until then. Opposite the corridor they were in, there was a huge dark archway, the two pillars on either side made of the same black stone as had been in the Frost Giant encampment. 

Sif touched his arm, her eyes questioning as she tilted her head toward the room. Loki paused. There were at least thirty guards in the chamber, all told. Stiff odds, but they’d faced much worse. He nodded, palming several of his tiny knives into readiness. Sif grinned and shifted her weight onto the balls of her feet, and on a silent count of three, they both sprang into action.

Loki waited several seconds before he dropped the invisibility on both of them. The delay had caused confusion, guards striking out all around them. He’d created illusion that one group had betrayed the others, and as he and Sif dove into the fray, the chamber filled with yelling and the sound of gunshots and steel on steel.

It had been a long time since he’d last fought beside his wife, but Loki found that they fell easily back into familiar patterns. With more room Sif used her full glaive, spinning it deftly in one hand while keeping her shield up. Bullets from the humans’ guns plinked off the bright metal, dropping around her feet like stones. Her hair, loose around her shoulders, followed her movements like a banner.

Loki flung his knives, spells wrapped around them that streaked off as the knife itself flew and sewed death as they went. One took an elf in the throat; as he went down gurgling, green lights arced out from the metal and struck humans and elves in the chest, jolting them with electricity and stopping their hearts.

The frost giants presented more problems; they were much bigger and much more solid, and though Loki and Sif could take them down without needing each other’s help, the other combatants made it hard to focus. Sif took a giant in the stomach with her blade, then had to spin back and block thrown ice knives from another giant from reaching Loki’s back as he struggled with an elf who had gotten too close to both of them. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Loki take a punch from the elf and go down. She flipped her grip on the hilt of her glaive and threw it like a javelin. It struck her giant in the chest, and Sif twisted, slamming her shield arm into the elf’s face as she went to plunge a dagger into Loki’s stomach. The elf stumbled back, her balance off, her nose streaming blood. Sif yanked out a dagger and swiped a long shallow gash across the elf’s throat, then swept her aside with a swift kick. Once the elf fell, Sif turned and held out her hand to Loki, helping him up.

“Very well done,” he commented, a spell limning his fingers with light as the floor shook under the footsteps of a giant running over. “You’ve not lost any of your sense of good timing.”

“Someone has to save our skins,” Sif replied with a grin, and Loki returned it. One of the movies Darcy has suggested they watch to get a better grasp of Midgard’s popular culture had been Star Wars, and Sif had been particularly taken by the princess Leia. Proof, she had told Loki, that one could be both royalty _and_ a warrior.

Then the remaining guards were upon them, and Sif and Loki leaped into action together, spells and blades weaving in and out and around each other, striking high and low and filling in gaps in offense and defense alike. The air was sharp with the ozone of Loki’s magic, the stench of blood and the chill of ice.

The human guards raised their guns and fired again, desperate; this time the bullets left dents in the metal, but Sif didn’t have time to think about it, didn’t have time to contemplate anything because they were shooting at _her husband_ , her king, and she would rather die than see him dead.

Thor had come to her before they left for Latveria and they had talked – about Sif’s fears and anxieties, about Loki’s reticence, about many things. Thor had said that Loki without her would be a shell of himself, that she had not taken away the bitterness in him but made him see it was unnecessary. Without her balancing Loki, Thor had said, he feared what would become of his brother.

Sif, though… she could not imagine recovering from the loss of someone who lent strength to her blade, who had showed her the value not just of patience and thought in her attacks, but how to use words as blades. Had she not spent so much time around Loki and his silver tongue, she would not have been able to help the elf queen. She had told him true, when they’d fought in their chambers – she would not be the same without him anymore, for with him she had a sense of being _complete_ in a way that bettered what she already was on her own.

For that was how they fought, two halves of a team that was nearly unstoppable. From behind the spinning protection of her glaive and the solid guard of her shield, Loki shot spell after spell, fingers seeming to bleed green light. Sif was a solid ring of steel between him and the oncoming assailants, her teeth bared in her concentration. She would not falter; she _could not_. And beside and behind her, Loki fought too, and she swore he was _enjoying himself_.

_Of course he is, the idiot_ , Sif thought. _He is showing off for me like a peacock fanning his feathers._ If there was one thing her husband loved, it was attention.

And he had it, when the giants fell and shook the floor and Sif and Loki stood surrounded by the still forms of men and elves and giants, breathing hard. Sif took a moment to examine her shield, dented when sense told her it shouldn’t be.

“I think,” Loki said, “But I cannot be certain, that we must go through there.” He gestured with a hand toward the corridor opposite the way they’d come in. “It has that same stone that dampens my magic. In fact, I think we are close enough…” 

He looked at his hands, experimenting with some spell or another, and Sif kicked aside the arm of a dead elf and knelt, picking up one of the bullets that had struck her shield and left a mark. It was the same as she’d seen others using – a cartridge made of a brassy metal, mostly, and in the same shape. But instead of a coppery bullet poking out, it was a different metal, a brightly polished steel. It looked far too familiar to her, and she straightened, cupping the cartridge in her hand and examining it. 

“Loki,” she said, “Do you think this is—“ She looked up suddenly, hearing a noise in the chamber.

It happened too fast to follow. She saw the human struggling to lift his head, his arm already extended, the gun pointing at Loki still engrossed in his spellwork. The next moment she was moving, knocking Loki aside with her shoulder and taking the bullets meant for him in her own body.

_Oh_ , Sif thought, looking down. Even half-dead, the human had had good aim; he’d struck her where her armor was weak or didn’t cover. Shoulder, arm, leg... stomach. One of the bullets _had_ pierced her armor, somehow. But Sif’s world had narrowed to her own body, and she stayed frozen to the spot as Loki cried out and threw himself upon her attacker. The man had been on his way to Hel already when he’d fired, and by the time Loki finished with him, there was little doubt he was already in Hela’s hall.

She felt Loki’s hands grasping her – she was on the floor, when had she fallen? – lifting her, heading back the way they’d come. “No,” she gasped, the pain starting to flare. “No, Loki, you must finish this—“

“You’re hurt,” he said. “He _shot_ you, the insolent _worm_...”

“ _Loki._ ” Sif grasped the lapel of his coat, tugging on it. It was the arm with the shoulder she’d been shot in, and her fingers didn’t have much strength. “Leave me here and go take Doom’s stolen power from him. He _must not have it._ ”

“I will not let you die, Sif!”

She laughed, and made it sound strong. “Do you think a human’s weapon could kill me, husband?” she asked. “I’m the Lady Sif. I am Asgard’s shield, defender of her king.”

“You are _queen._ ”

“I’m that too. And I will die seeing her king succeed and live, if I must.” 

“I _do not want you to die._ ”

She reached up, touching his jaw, and Loki stopped, looking down at her. “Set me down, Loki. I will stay here and keep any followers from coming for you down the corridor. This is my choice.”

“Sif, I _can’t_ \--“

“You can, and you will.” Sif squirmed as much as she could and Loki made a noise in his throat and set her down. She tried to put weight on the leg she’d been shot in and swallowed a whimper, shifting her balance to her good leg. “My sword?”

Loki went and fetched it for her, and by the time he came back she’d taken her shield off her arm and pressed it into his hands. He held it in a white-knuckled grip.

“Won’t you need this?”

“I have my sword.” Sif smiled at him. “If I cannot be at your side, I will still be able to defend you.”

He leaned down and kissed her then, fingers tightening around her wrists. When he seemed ready to linger, Sif pushed at him.

“Go,” she said. “I’ll be here. Have a little faith in me, Loki.”

He seemed about to say something then, the words that lingered behind his eyes, but instead simply turned and walked away, her shield strapped to his arm. Sif watched him go, then took a breath and turned herself to face the corridor again. Far down it she could hear voices, and she had to make sure that Loki could finish what they came here to do.

Even if it meant death.

*

The moment he’d gotten close to the archway, Loki had felt something like a pressure on him. Once he’d passed the two black pillars he’d experimentally tried to summon his magic, and it wouldn’t come. Whatever was down this way, they were taking no chances.

The pillars behind him weren’t the only ones, either; at regular intervals, the water-streaked stone had been dug out and rune-carved plinths installed, along with flickering lights. There seemed to be a cumulative effect, as the pressure he felt suppressing his magic seemed to increase with every step he took down the gently sloping, twisting corridor.

When he’d gone what seemed to be at least half a mile, Loki began to hear voices and a low throbbing noise. His skin prickled with power – not magic, but something else, and it grew as a blue-white glow began to fill the corridor and the voices grew louder.

“…could not stop them…”

“…not at the… must be somewhere here. Doom will…”

Feeling exposed without his spells, Loki crept forward, until he was at last peering out the other end of the corridor into the huge chamber beyond. Like the guard room above, this one had a more natural look to it, though some shaping had been done and another hallway dug out about a quarter-turn around the room. Computer banks were arranged in concentric, offset arcs back and forth across the room, giving it the look of a stadium. The source of the blue-white light was in the center, as were the speakers.

_Doom_ , he thought. _Rolfgar, one of the dark elves working on Alfheim, and… who is the last?_ For there was a fourth figure, but they were cloaked, and even when they turned around the light from whatever the group was standing around could not illuminate the depths of their hood. _Sif’s mystery guest._

The flooring was a metal grate, and Loki eased himself onto it, moving slowly so as not to give his position away. Moving slowly and stealthily, he crept closer, using the banks of computers as cover for his movements.

“…will take time to return you to Jotunheim,” Doom was saying. “You arrived too soon.”

“You have Midgard’s heroes and Asgard’s royalty running amok in your fortress,” Rolfgar replied. “And while you _give us excuses_ we could be attacking Asgard and removing their ability to influence the other realms.”

“It is not Doom’s fault you are short-sighted,” Doom rumbled. “Why have you brought the elf, Skuggi? Other than for purposes of _transportation._ ”

“The elves loyal to their queen are proving more difficult to eradicate than anticipated,” the elf said, obviously needled at the insulting form of address. “When can we expect your own people to intervene, Doom? Or yours, Skuggi? I know that the one man executed for treason in Asgard was not the last of your little band of loyalists.”

_There are traitors to me? In_ my _house?_ Loki kept himself from audibly grinding his teeth.

“We are not in a position to move yet,” the cloaked figure said. They were using some means to obscure their voice, and Loki couldn’t place who they might be by that alone. “Our efforts are focused elsewhere for the time being. You said you could take care of it, Kadreth.”

“We cannot.” The elf turned to Doom. “We need more of those magical devices you gave us.”

“The man making them was captured by the Midgardians,” Skaggi said. “There are no more. Use what you have in a smarter way.”

“None of this helps me gain Utgard,” Rolfgar muttered. Doom waved a hand.

“And in the meantime we have other problems,” he said. “Let us discuss matters somewhere less dank.”

The four moved off, feet and boots clanking on the floor. Loki waited until they were gone, then counted to a suitably high number before he continued on down to the clear area in the center.

The light came from another plinth, but this one seemed to be made of glass and was filled with a muddy blue light. Wisps of silver-blue light crackled outward, reaching toward him, and Loki shivered back as one came close. This chamber was lined with the black stone plinths too, and he wondered how much of that was meant to keep this energy contained rather than prevent anyone with magic being truly effective here.

Leaving the plinth behind for now, Loki went over to one of the consoles, tapping keys. He had the idea that this was probably used as a bridge between worlds – or at least was meant to be a focus for the elves to use when they brought others along their pathways, he had read of such things before – but it would be good to know more—

“I didn’t think you would come in person.”

Loki spun, putting Sif’s shield up. Rolfgar stood in the entrance to the smaller hallway, grinning at him. As the Jotun advanced, Loki put the plinth between them. Rolfgar had been swinging a mace made of blue-green ice as he came down, and he seemed not to pay attention to the glowing plinth. The ice glittered in its light, and Loki watched it warily.

_He has a reach that is almost as long as I am tall_ , Loki thought, _and I have a_ dagger.

“How else would I come?” Loki asked. “Illusory doubles can only accomplish so much. It’s far more entertaining to do these things oneself.”

“I was surprised to see you in my camp, too,” the would-be Jotun king continued as though Loki hadn’t spoken. “From what I know of you, you don’t take part yourself if you can help it.”

“Doing things oneself is the only way one can be sure it is done _right._ ” Loki shrugged, twisting the hilt of the dagger in his hand. “Particularly if it is important.”

He brought the shield up as Rolfgar’s hand flickered. Three points of ice shattered against the metal. “And yet you make blunders,” the giant taunted.

“Name one.”

Rolfgar grinned. “You know what I’m speaking of. The second.”

Years of experience had schooled Loki in the art of keeping his face impassive, or happy or angry or whatever he wanted it to show. Rolfgar’s words rocked him - _how could he have known_ \- but he simply smirked, continuing his circling backwards. “You ought to slay whoever’s passing you information,” he said, taking a gamble. “They’re only there to suck your coffers dry and give you nothing but lies and dust.”

His supposition had been right. Rolfgar didn’t have confidence in his new allies, and hesitated, and that was all that Loki needed. He flung the knife, watching it fly end over end, aiming for Rolfgar’s heart—

And the giant deflected it.

As if it happened in slow motion, Loki watched the silver knife spin off into the dim room. It hit a computer console that shorted out in a fountain of sparks and fell to the floor. Rolfgar snarled and advanced toward Loki now, big steps that shook the grates they stood on.

“You’ve got no magic to save you now, _boy_ ,” he snarled. “Those little stones of Doom’s keep it safely locked away. No weapons – only the battered shield of a woman half-dead – but don’t worry, you’ll soon _join her!_ ”

He swung his mace and Loki barely got the shield up in time. Ice showered down around him and on him, and Rolfgar snarled and held his arm out. Ice formed around it and he made to strike Loki with the sharp edge, but the trickster was no longer where he’d just been standing. He ran lightly to the low railing around the center platform and leaped up on it, balancing just for a moment before flipping over backwards to land on top of one of the computer consoles.

“I don’t intend to let my wife die,” he said. “And I certainly wouldn’t want to die myself. It seems boring.”

“Very pretty words,” Rolfgar growled. “And prettier movements. Are you all show, Asgardian? Or do you have bite?”

He flung a spear made of ice, and Loki dodged to the side, skittering along the top of the console. “There’s no need to abandon _style_ ,” he said. “Leave the artless smashing to Thor. I have much more _finesse._ ”

His next flip – dodging another ice spear – brought him close to his lost dagger. Loki dropped to the ground and snapped it up, charging forward (and Sif would have been proud to see him moving). This time he _did_ strike true, and Rolfgar’s howl of pain shook the entire chamber… but he ground his teeth and grabbed Loki’s arm, twisting so Loki was forced to let go of the dagger.

_No,_ Loki thought, panic suddenly beginning to well up in him as leather cracked and metal froze and shattered. _No, no, no, not again, not again--_ “—not again, _not again_ \--“

He wrenched free but the damage was done. His arm was blue past the elbow – he could feel the ice coursing through the rest of him, and refused to look at it. Rolfgar couldn’t take his eyes from it.

“You are a Jotun,” he said, as though he couldn’t believe it. “You are one of us… you are a _traitor_ to us!”

Something in Loki snapped. Maybe it was proof of his heritage being said aloud, the anxiety and revulsion he had worked so hard to set aside for Sif was always telling him that she cared not if he was blue or pink or any other color, and he could hear her words in his head, exasperated. Whatever the cause, Loki’s eyes snapped up to meet Rolfgar’s.

“I am Loki, son of Odin,” he snarled, feeling the ice creep beyond his shoulder, down his side, across his body. “I am _of Asgard_. What are you but a _pawn_ of your betters?”

Enraged, the giant charged forward again but Loki was ready, slipping sideways like water through a channel. His body was full of an icy heat. Rolfgar’s arm, encased in ice, slammed down where Loki had been a moment ago.

“Behind you.”

Rolfgar spun, and Loki drove his two blades home, teeth bared in a snarl, eyes narrowed to slits as he pushed them in as far as they would go.

“Give my regards to Hela,” he whispered in the giant’s face, and pulled free.

Rolfgar crumpled to the floor, dark blood seeping from the two wounds in his chest. Loki watched him dispassionately for a moment, making sure he would not rise. Then he shook his right hand, sending the blade of ice shattering around his boots.

He wanted nothing more in that moment than to run back to Sif, to take her in his arms and get past the influence of the black stones so he could take her straight to Eir. In his mind he saw her fighting valiantly, blood staining her armor, saw her stumble, saw her _fall_ \--but his work here wasn’t done just yet.

First he methodically destroyed the computers, walking to each one and crushing it in ice. Whatever knowledge Doom, Rolfgar, and the elves had used to make the thing in the center of the room, Loki would not let them regain it so easily. When each terminal had icy spikes jutting from it, he walked down to the plinth in the center, studying it as he did.

“What _are_ you,” he murmured quietly. Then he swung his arm, and the steel of Sif’s shield cracked the glass, sparks of light flying out. He did it again and again until the plinth shattered completely, and the light flashed bright enough to leave purple afterimages in his eyes before disappearing.

Then he was running, leaping up the destroyed computer consoles and running as fast as he could back up the corridor, back to his wife, back to—

“Thor?” he panted. The brightness of the guard room burned his eyes, but no, it was Thor standing in the middle of the carnage Sif and himself had left behind. Loki’s eyes darted across the corpses on the floor, up the hallway. “Where is she?”

Thor turned to look at his brother and his eyes widened slightly. Loki stalked forward, stepping on the dead uncaring, for there was an uncomfortable pressure in his chest and panic beginning to build once more in his mind. 

“ _Where is she?_ ” he demanded.

“Loki,” Thor said quietly. “Loki, you are—“

“ _Answer me!_ ”

Thor twitched as Loki made a grab for him – a grab with a hand that was still blue, covered in the delicate tracery of his true ancestry. Loki stared at it for a moment, then turned, looking at his reflection in the half-shattered glass of a mirrored window. Beyond it was some kind of armory, but he did not care about guns or grenades.

Loki raised his fingertips to touch his face, slid a fingertip along one of the lines that crossed his brow. He was still repelled by it, but though the face was strange, it was still his, still sharp-featured and sly. He lowered his hand, watching as his skin responded to the little push of magic that came easily now that it wasn’t being dampened by the black stone. Pink washed over his skin again.

_I am still Loki_ , he thought.

“That’s very strange,” Thor said behind him. “I have never seen you… blue.”

“I wish you hadn’t.” Loki took a breath, but his eyes were still narrowed when he turned away from his reflection. “Where is she, Thor? Is she…” he tried to say _gone_ or _dead_ but his words failed. He must have looked distressed, for Thor shook his head and _laughed_ , putting his hand on Loki’s shoulder and pushing him forward, down the hallway.

“She is Sif,” he said as they walked together back the way they’d come. “Ragnarok will come before she lets herself be killed by such a measly lot as this! Come now, Brother, I will take you to her.”

*

Sif woke to the dim glow of strip lighting above her. It seemed to swim in her vision, and her ears were full of a dull rushing sound that worsened the disorientation. Luckily, she was resting on something soft and a blanket was tucked securely over her, which lessened the feeling that she would float away if a strong breeze pushed at her.

She tried to sit up but her body wouldn’t cooperate with the demands of her mind; tried to lift a hand to press against her eyes, but felt a pinch in the crook of her elbow. She made a vague swatting motion at it but her hand just flopped uselessly against her stomach.

“Wha’ happen,” she mumbled. Her mouth felt full of cloth, and she shut it again as something, a hand maybe, brushed hair away from her face. Sif opened her eyes and saw Thor leaning over her at an awkward angle. Sif smiled at him – at least she assumed her face was cooperating and smiling. “Hullo, Thor. I’m not dead.”

“And Valhalla misses your blades, I’m sure,” Thor rumbled. “But thankfully, we do not.”

He sat back, holding his arm very still. Sif followed it down and furrowed her brow, twitching her fingers at him. “Thor,” she said, concerned. “You have… something. In your arm.”

Thor raised an eyebrow at someone out of her field of view. There was the sound of stifled laughter. “So I do,” he said, looking down at the tubing. Sif turned her head, looking at her own arm.

“Oh,” she said with a smile. “So do I.”

“Leave it alone,” Thor told her. “Doctor Banner says you need a little more.”

“More what?” Sif closed her eyes and felt the darkness press in against her. Thor said something, a response, but her ears fuzzed out briefly, and when she opened them again the whole thing had gone completely out of her mind.

“Where’s Loki?” she asked. Surely he would be with her, and for the first time a thread of worry entered her mind. “Is he…”

“I’m here.” Fingertips brushed her face again, and Sif turned her head and smiled broadly at her husband. He wasn’t unscathed himself – there were several cuts on his face and he seemed to be moving his arm a bit stiffly, but her heart was glad to see him all the same. “Are you…?”

“I feel like Nidhogg himself chewed me up and spat me back out,” she told him.

“As well he did.” Loki’s throat worked a moment. “Asgard would be much poorer without her most faithful defender.”

“Oh, still your silver tongue a moment,” Sif mumbled. “I know what you meant to say,” she said. “I know Loki would not be the same without Sif.” She closed her eyes, but felt Loki take her hand. His touch was relaxing and Sif let her eyes drift closed, settling her head back on the scratchy pillow, feeling the building wave beginning to crest over her.

“Wake me later,” she said. “I cannot sleep all the day long. I have to… I have…”

“Rest,” she heard, and then nothing.


	6. Proximity

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another one complete! I hope you all like this last chapter (I think we'll all need something nice going into Thor 2). As always, questions/comments/squee are welcome at my [tumblr!](teslatricity.tumblr.com) Look for the next installment of Kingsverse soon!
> 
> _proximity;_ nearness in space, time, or relationship.

The moment they walked out of the elevators a shout of greeting went up from the people assembled in the room. Thor all but vaulted out of his seat, sweeping Loki and Sif up into a great hug.

“Loki! Sif!” he boomed, stepping back to beam at them and at the Warriors Three just behind them. “My friends, you have all arrived at last!”

“We would not miss this,” Fandral said, pushing through and slapping Thor on the shoulder. “You, leaving our noble bachelor ranks! One last night of celebration is the least we can do.”

“Though I must ask, my prince,” Volstagg said, tugging at the sleeve of Thor’s leather jacket. “ _What_ are you wearing?”

“I could ask that of _you_ , m’lord,” Darcy called out. Given that Thor, Sif, and the Warriors Three now seemed to be jostling each other and yelling, Loki turned to peer at where Darcy was sprawled across several of the couch cushions watching Lena crawl around.

“There is nothing wrong with my clothing,” he said, smoothing his hands over his own leathers.

“It’s a little out of style for Midgard,” Darcy replied. “Though give it time and I think half the dark-haired guys on the planet will be wearing high collars and stupid layers. But you are _not_ dressed for a night on _this_ town.”

The decibel level around Thor was rapidly rising, so Loki went and sat on the couch by Darcy’s feet. Lena, visiting her father after a month away on Asgard with her mother and drawn by the bright metal pieces on his outfit, crawled over and began tugging on the hem of his jacket. “And that is a problem because…”

“Because it’s your brother’s bachelor party-slash-booze cruise, and you said you would.”

“I said—“

“You _promised._ ” Darcy grinned. “Also, I kinda want to see you in people clothes, not alien space viking clothes.”

Loki sighed, but with a twist of his hand the leather and green cloth melted away, replaced by black slacks and vest, and a white shirt with the sleeves rolled up, the top buttons undone. “Will this suffice?” 

“Hot _damn_ ,” Darcy breathed, then clapped her hands over her mouth. “The baby! I’m sorry! Cover her ears!”

Lena was trying valiantly to pull herself up his leg anyway, so Loki somewhat hesitantly plucked her off the floor and let her sit beside him on the couch. She stared up at him with serious blue eyes, pulled her fingers out of her mouth, and dragged them with great deliberation across his cheek.

“She cannot understand you, Darcy, I’m certain nobody needs to cover her ears,” he said, trying vainly to quell the distaste that lingered as he scrubbed baby saliva off his skin. _Sif wants one of these?_

“Oh, she understands. Don’t you, you little terror?” Darcy leaned over and tickled Lena’s sides and the baby squealed happily, bouncing where she sat.

“Perhaps she has inherited her mind from her mother, then.”

“How’s Jane? I wanted to go with her, but…” Darcy waved a hand. “Ambassador things. I’ll be seeing her tomorrow, anyway.”

“She will exhaust the library’s tomes and scrolls on the Bifrost and its associated magic by the time we return, I think. When she is not with my mother or the couturiers, she is there.”

“ _Typical._ She has an entire alien planet to explore and she spends all her time with her nose in a book.”

“She explained her new project to me.” Loki made an exasperated noise as Lena started crawling into his lap, pulling herself along on his clothing. He tugged her fingers away from the buttons of his waistcoat and said, “I think perhaps research for it calms her nerves. It’s a sentiment I can agree with, at the least.”

“Sucks that that Von Paselk guy died in SHIELD’s custody.” Darcy pulled one of the throw pillows from behind her and hugged it. “Jane wanted to talk to him about what he’d been doing with Doom, what was in that room you fought in.”

“It is for the best that the knowledge he had died with him.” Loki sighed in exasperation, pulling Lena’s hands out of his hair. “Does she not have toys she could be playing with?”

“She does. This is _way_ more entertaining.”

“It is _undignified._ ”

“Hey, don’t you want kids? This is what you have to look forward to.”

“I am beginning to question the wisdom of—“

“Hey, I thought we were going to _go party!_ ”

Loki rolled his eyes, but Darcy caught the shadow of a grin as he nudged Lena out of his lap and rose to join the rest of the group. Thor and Sif were in some kind of wrestling match on the ground and Loki pushed his way through those egging them on.

“Stop it – that’s _enough_ , both of you, _stop_ it I say—“

Sif flipped Thor onto his back and pinned him with a leg, twisting to look up at her husband. Her eyes narrowed. “What _are_ you wearing, husband?”

“Clothes,” Loki replied. “Get up, you are _royalty_ and not _savages_.”

Sif looked over at Thor. “I am going to let you win,” she said, “Only because you are going to be wed and because whatever my fool husband is wearing, I have to tear it off of him.”

“ _Gross_ ,” Clint groaned.

“We’re on a schedule,” Tony added. “No boning until we’ve been to at least three bars.”

Thor had gotten a very strange, glazed look on his face, and Loki shifted uncomfortably. “Yes, well,” he said, helping Sif up. “I suppose we’d best be underway.”

The group began drifting toward the elevators. Sif took the opportunity while everyone else was distracted to lean in, her hand sliding up Loki’s arm. “I will think of other ways to still your silver tongue while you are gone,” she murmured in his ear. “I intend to be very creative.”

Loki watched her walk away, the gold mail of her tunic glittering in the red-gold light of the sunset, until he felt a hand on his shoulder.

“Are you coming, Brother?”

Sif caught his eye and smirked at him. Loki raised an eyebrow at her, but as the doors were closing on the elevator, he returned the smirk just in time.

A long, black limousine had pulled up in the private garage reserved only for their use. It was huge, but when everyone had shoved their way in, it felt much smaller. Bruce and Steve had stayed behind – neither one had any interest in drinking or even the ability to enjoy it, and Fury had insisted that at least a couple of them remain on watch. They’d be at the wedding, of course, in a few days’ time, but had taken the night off drinking in case robots or aliens or some other villains decided to crop up.

Which was how they ended up missing all the fun.

*

Stark Tower without two-thirds of the team was a quiet place. Darcy had stayed up in the common area with Lena, starting in on a pile of movies that seemed to have the common theme of romantic comedy; Sif had taken over one of the training rooms, and Steve had eventually joined her for a few rounds. And Bruce had retreated to one of the labs.

It wasn’t because he didn’t like anyone else – in the Avengers he’d found a group of people who saw him for what he was and _accepted_ it. They feared the other guy (hell, Bruce still did a little, he couldn’t blame _them_ ) but they saw his value just the same as they saw the value of Bruce the man. They were all outcasts somehow, even Thor, and they worked because what each one of them lacked was made up for in the others. Bruce felt like he _fit_ , and that was a new and really, really good feeling.

But for now he kept to himself. There were things he had to look into, things he wanted the quiet time in the tower – and the access to Tony’s private servers – to work on. 

“JARVIS,” he said, pulling two of the plastic tubs on the benchtop toward him and popping the latches on each. “I’d like an analysis done on a couple materials.”

“Of course, Dr. Banner. Please place the samples in the analysis areas.” 

Two glowing circles lit up on the benchtop as Bruce pulled on a pair of gloves. They weren’t sure what this rock was, but if it blocked Loki’s magic (and despite their most earnest attempts they were no closer to explaining _how_ Loki could do what he did), Bruce wanted to know as much as he could about it.

“Beginning analysis. Do you have pulverized samples, sir?”

“Sorry, no. It doesn’t fracture under normal circumstances. Seems you have to throw an Asgardian at it first.”

“I see, sir.” There was a pause, then holographic displays started lighting up. “The analysis is complete. Shall I store the data on your private drive?”

“For now, yeah.” Bruce pulled the molecular structure hologram down to look at it, but let JARVIS pack it back up with the other data. He’d analyze it later. “The second material is a glass-like solid. We found it in that place in Romania we went to last Christmas and in this place as well. Some of the scientists probably worked in both places, but we don’t know its purpose. What can you tell us?”

He was more careful with this sample, putting on thick gloves and moving it with a pair of tongs. There was a pause as JARVIS performed his initial analyses and data scrolled across the displays once more.

“The substance is an unknown oxide glass, sir, of the kind used in fiber optics and other applications where extremely clear, conductive class is necessary.”

“The chunks we saw obviously weren’t being used for fiber optics. Does it have any other applications?”

“Oxide glasses are generally used in electronics and computing for their clarity. There are not many other applications known.”

Bruce leaned over, looking at the sample. It seemed to be a corner – the edges met at ninety-degree angles. “Has it ever been used to make containers for anything?”

“Not to my knowledge, sir.”

“All right. Let’s get to work analyzing these things – chemically, their physical properties, everything. I want to know as much as I can about both substances.”

“Very well, sir.”

*

The bar was packed and uncomfortably hot, and as Loki took a sip of his drink (some Midgard concoction that was almost too sweet), he made a note of the fact the majority of patrons around them seemed to be very eager-looking women trying to touch him, or Thor’s arms, or any one of the Avengers. Stark had insisted this was some kind of tradition on Midgard, related to sending a man out of bachelorhood in style. Loki had his own opinions, of course, but it _was_ amusing watching Thor try to gently deflect propositions from inebriated women, and no few men as well, as he shoved his way over to the stool beside Loki and plopped down so heavily the legs creaked.

“This is truly a magnificent tavern!” he boomed, grinning. “It must surely rival one of Asgard’s finest!”

Loki traced a ghostly ring on the bar top that would never have been allowed to set even in the lowliest of watering holes in Asgard. “Oh, it surely must,” he agreed. Thor missed the complete lack of sincerity in his brother’s voice, gesturing expansively at the crowd pressing in around them.

“There are many admirers of ours here, Brother!”

“Admirers of _yours?_ ”

“No, of both of us! Here is the king of Asgard, my brother!” A cheer went up around them and Loki sighed, but turned to smile. He _did_ like the attention. 

“You are the least subtle creature in _any_ realm,” he said.

“Tonight is not a night for subtlety!” Thor’s drink was refilled as soon as he set it down, and he raised it above their heads. “To my brother!” Another cheer, and after they’d all had a very _long_ drink, Thor leaned over. “Brother, you should greet some of them!”

“I _have_ been.” A steady stream of men and women had been occupying the seat Thor had now, making advances that ranged from the perfunctory to the kind of detailed fantasy that only came with long hours of thought, along with various thoughts on their own suitability for ruling Asgard beside him. He’d toyed with some and dismissed others outright, but they kept coming. The idea of having _fans_ was a strange one to him, but between the various virtual means of interaction he’d partaken of and—

“You wanna go, bro?”

He came out of his thoughts and shifted in his seat, watching with interest as Thor pulled a man’s hand away from the sleeve of his coat. The other Avengers, plus the ever-shifting crowd, had cleared a small space. Loki took a long pull from his drink and let the scene play out before him.

“I do not wish to harm you, friend,” Thor was saying as gently as he could while also yelling. “But you were causing this lady distress, for you pressed her for what she does not want to give. Now, I want no violence—“

“Bro?” Loki muttered to himself. Nobody heard him.

“Yo, _fuck_ you, bro,” the man spat. “You don’t get to fuckin’ tell me what to do with my woman.”

“I’m _not_ your woman!”

“She does not want your advances,” Thor said. “I must ask you to leave.”

“I would listen to him,” Loki told the gathering toughs, putting on a very knowledgeable expression. “Have you _seen_ his arms… _bro?_ ”

“Wasn’t talking to you, bro.” The apparent leader of the group tilted his chin in what was clearly a universal threat display. “Who the fuck you think you are?”

“He’s the God of Thunder!” Someone – probably Tony from the sound of it – yelled from elsewhere along the bar. “That’s who he is!”

“The fuck is that?”

“Don’t think so, bro,” one of the man’s friends said. “God of Thunder’s that hero Avenger guy from Midtown, bro. This guy’s just some ‘roider.”

“You are free now, my lady.” Thor nudged the woman toward Hogun and Volstagg. “Make sure she gets to safety,” he said. This seemed to only make the men around them mad.

“Seriously, bro? You tryna pass yourself off as an _Avenger_ , bro? _Seeeeriously?_ ”

“Some ‘roider puttin’ his nose in where he don’t _belong_ , bro.”

One of the men grabbed Thor’s sleeve again, and Thor gave him a look that Loki knew well (and which caused him to start drinking very quickly, for the drink was good and he didn’t want it to go to waste). “Remove your hand,” he said calmly.

“Fuckin’ _make_ me.”

“Is there to be a duel?” Fandral asked, looking up from the conversations he’d been holding with the women around him.

“If that’s what you wanna call it.” Clint was knocking his drink back too, twisting off his stool to stand beside Thor.

Thor looked at Loki, and there was an all-too-familiar glee in his eyes. “Brother?”

“Oh, Thor, _must_ we?” Loki drawled, even though he was grinning too.

The man opposite Thor – the first one he’d been arguing with – threw a punch. Thor caught his fist, twisted it casually, and the man went down with a cry of pain. And then the bar erupted into chaos.

Whether or not this particular place had security working for it quickly became irrelevant; the bartender was shouting and waving his arms, the supposed bouncers were shouting and trying to push people out of the way to get to Thor, who had his original assailant by the shirt and was trying to push him toward the door. Tony had climbed onto the bar itself and was all but dancing about in glee. In the midst of the melee, Loki turned back to the bar and the dregs of his beverage, fishing a peanut out of the bowl in front of him, waiting for the right moment.

“Hey! Pasty asshole!”

Loki sighed. “Always the same insults,” he muttered. “Does no one have a taste for the _art_ of it anymore? Yes, what do you want?”

The bald-pated man slowed a bit in confusion at Loki’s nonchalance. “You his bro?”

“Unfortunately. I ask again, what do you want?”

The man threw a punch at Loki’s face in reply.

_No creativity,_ he thought. _How dull._

With blinding speed, Loki caught the man’s wrist, jerking it down toward the floor at the same time as he used his other palm to sweep the bowl of peanuts up toward the man’s face. His attacker closed his eyes and tried to twist away—

\--and never saw Loki plant a foot on the floor and pivot, slamming a knee up into the man’s stomach. The would-be assailant flew backwards into a cluster of people, and Loki smiled to himself.

“I suppose I’m in it now,” he said. “What a pity.”

It was over quickly after that. Thor threw the last of the group of toughs out onto the sidewalk, the bartender threw the rest of the Avengers out the door, and everyone slunk away to their respective vehicles. Thor was excited, bouncing in his seat as the limo drove off to the next bar on their list.

“Does it not bring back memories, Loki?” he asked.

“We are far more successful now than we ever were then.” Loki absently rubbed at his jaw – someone had landed a punch, and it had stung a little – but not having to deal with kingly responsibilities and being in the midst of chaos felt quite rejuvenating.

“And now we have a victory to celebrate as well as my marriage!” Thor said to the rest of the group. “The first of many!”

Loki took a deep breath as the car filled with hollering and whooping, but he was still smiling. _This is going to be a very long night._

*

As usual Sif was up with the sunrise as it warmed the dark-tinted windows of their suite in Stark Tower. Her instincts were hard to beat, and they kicked in as she stretched and realized that Loki’s side of the bed was still cool, his pillow undisturbed. Running a hand through her hair and with worry creasing her brow, Sif pulled on loose, comfortable clothing and left the bedroom in search of her errant husband. Loki wasn’t in the common room of the suite, nor was he in the study, so she went to one of the shared floors.

Sure enough she found him, a cup of coffee balanced in his long fingers and a slightly vacant stare on his face – if Loki had the ability to have vacant stares. _Dazed_ might have been better. Sif touched him on the shoulder and he jumped, turning to look at her.

“You look awful,” she told him. “Why have you not come to bed?”

Loki cleared his throat, fingers of one hand coming to brush against hers. The knuckles were red, and Sif raised her eyebrows. Had he been _punching_ things?

“Well,” he said, his voice rough, “We have not exactly had the time.”

Sif leaned on his shoulder to survey the group. Thor was nowhere to be seen, but Tony was sprawled half-off the couch section he’d apparently fallen upon, Clint was watching Darcy become increasingly alarmed as she poured more and more milk into his coffee, and even Natasha – whom Sif had _never_ seen disheveled even in the middle of a battle – looked a little out of sorts. They were all of them in various states of exhaustion, or perhaps lingering drunkenness.

“You realize that the wedding festivities start tonight,” she murmured in Loki’s ear. He groaned and let his head fall back.

“I cannot fathom the thought,” he whined. “ _You_ handle it.”

“We are both required to be there, Loki. No clones.”

“ _Why?_ ”

Sif grinned and let her lips trail over the outer shell of his ear, some of the nascent desire from the night before rekindling. “Because nobody expects the King of Asgard to stumble in drunk at dawn.” Loki, whose eyes had fluttered shut at the huskiness of her voice and the warmth of her breath, managed a disgruntled look.

“Half-drunk,” he muttered.

“I’m certain your mother has a remedy if you wish it.”

“Why must you threaten me so?” Loki whined. “Is a wife not supposed to be a help for her husband and to humor him when he has been out all night celebrating his brother’s imminent nuptials?”

“If you had _wanted_ to be humored, you would have married a different woman,” Sif told him briskly. “Now get up, sleepy bones. I will help you until you get to a bath, you reek of taverns.”

She pulled Loki to his feet and let him put an arm over her shoulders as they made their slow way to the elevators. While they waited for a car to come take them up, Loki pressed his face into her hair.

“I am not certain I will be able to manage a bath on my own. I _am_ ineb… in… I am still drunk.”

Sif grinned slowly, turning to brush his lips with her own. “I never said you would be bathing alone.”

*

Guests had been arriving in Asgard for the last few days. Indeed as they walked onto the gilt floor of the Observatory, Heimdall seemed almost impatient to move them onto the still-flickering crystalline bridge as soon as the outer shell stopped rotating.

“A delegation from Vanaheim is due to ask my permission for travel in several minutes,” he intoned. “Your horses await you.”

They took the ride slowly – not just because of the severity of some headaches but to see how the city had been turned out for the wedding. It was much like it had been for Loki and Sif’s; garlands hung from every balcony, and the noise of happy people drifted out of every alleyway and terraced market. The palace itself was hung with not only Loki and Sif’s banners indicating their residence, but also Thor’s, and the silver and navy blue that had been chosen for Jane.

The halls were thronged with servants and attendants, Asgardian and elf and dwarf walking alongside each other as they went about their business. All stopped to bow as the group passed, murmuring greetings to Sif and Loki and their congratulations to Thor.

“I hope this is going to be a much better party than the last one I was at here,” Tony said as Sif spoke quietly to Bothi and arranged rooms for the guests.

“I’m just glad that Fury let us all go.” Bruce hadn’t been able to stop swiveling his head around since he’d walked out of the Observatory. “But he said it gave him a good chance to send his backup team on a shakedown mission.”

“I’m sure’s hell not gonna complain about a vacation.” Clint still had his sunglasses on inside. Darcy was watching him beadily from the front of the group. “Let the second string work for a while.”

“Bothi will show you to your rooms,” Sif told them, coming back. “Tony Stark, I have made sure you have been lodged away from the elves, as I am told that Armod of the Snowy Pines is with the delegation again.”

“And there goes any fun I was going to have.” Tony sighed as he was led away. “Why aren’t any of you people _normal?_ ”

*

“So far reports look good, sir,” Coulson said as he set his earpiece and microphone down on the console. “Agent Hill is a good commander. The team you selected seems to be on top of things.”

“Not that there’s much to be on top _of_ ,” Fury replied, but he slid two fingers down the display and closed readouts tracking the secondary team of Avengers. When the others returned from Asgard, this second team would be stationed on the west coast of the United States, and Fury made himself set aside plans for teams for other countries now. SHIELD had made several overtures to European countries and to China, but though they were happy to benefit from SHIELD’s flagship team and SHIELD’s R&D divisions, they all seemed to be dragging their heels on the subject of permanently stationed response teams that weren’t answerable to their own governments, or _any_ government.

“Do you think we should have gone to Thor and Dr. Foster’s wedding, Coulson?” he asked, turning to walk up the ramp toward the command deck’s exit. “It might have looked better to Asgard.”

“I don’t think anything will change the minds of the king and queen except time and more subtle work, sir.” Coulson crossed his arms over his file folders, walking beside Fury as they left the command deck. “Someone needed to stay behind to keep an eye on things here, anyway.”

Fury stopped, looking over. “Really, Coulson? You gonna play that card?”

“Sorry, sir. I couldn’t help myself.”

They continued down the corridor. Eventually Coulson spoke again. 

“The packages were delivered to Harstad safely, sir.”

Fury was suddenly on edge. The projects going on at SHIELD’s R&D facility in Harstad were some of the most important… and the most likely to turn their entire team against them. Or at least, one or two of the members of the team, and Fury knew that when the Avengers fractured, it wouldn’t be pretty. “Given that we haven’t been able to figure out why the queen of Asgard was shot with bullets jacketed in Asgardian steel, and that the readings from SWORD haven’t been encouraging, it’s probably good. But speaking of things that would put us in deep shit with Asgard…”

“There’s no reason Asgard has to find out about it.”

“You know how Loki is, Coulson, ferreting out things he shouldn’t know.”

“There’s no crossover between our operations here and what they’re doing.” They paused by one of the helicarrier’s ports, the running lights and the lights of their escort fighters providing transient light. Coulson looked serious, despite his reassurances. “I don’t think we’re in any danger right now, sir. The attention’s elsewhere.”

“You’re probably right, Coulson. I didn’t get to where I am without a little paranoia, but now I can’t turn it the hell off.” Fury shrugged. “Shouldn’t you be celebrating? Thor’s getting married.”

“Actually, sir,” Coulson said, “I was thinking we could.”

“Could what?”

“Celebrate.” Coulson shrugged, though there was nothing of his usual nonchalance in it. “If you want.”

For a long moment Fury was quiet, looking at the man who was instrumental to more things than just SHIELD. Then he gave one of his not-smiles and nodded.

“I can take a night off,” he said. “Come on, Coulson. SHIELD can survive without us.”

*

The morning of the wedding, Loki rose with the dawn. He didn’t have to – by tradition Thor and Jane breakfasted apart and he and Sif would join them, and that was not for a few hours yet – but there was something he needed to do.

Sif was waking too, and she stretched luxuriously under his caresses as he leaned over her, hands sliding up to fit around her breasts and squeeze them, making her huff and sigh as he pushed his face into her hair. She smelled of leather and metal and _him_ ; last night they had pulled one of the loungers out to the balcony and Sif had been a shadow against the Branches as she moved above him, and it seemed the night sky had made its home in her eyes even when they had moved to the bed. She had been mead and magic on his tongue, and the taste lingered even now.

“You rise early,” she murmured, and the low huskiness of her voice made him want to strip off his leathers and rejoin her.

“I have some business to attend to before the day starts.” Loki kissed her again, felt her fingertips slide up across his cheek and into his hair. “Try not to miss me terribly.”

“As long as you are back when I need you.”

He drew away, pausing as the doors swung open before him. “And when would that be, my lady?”

Sif just smirked at him from the bed, and the image stayed with him, bolstering him as he descended to the lowest levels of the palace, past the guards and magical checkpoints and spells, speaking his authority to them as he passed. It was powerful, to be the one to whom spells answered without question, especially ones woven by the Allfather himself. Loki used that to keep himself moving, keep his feet moving forward to the last set of doors.

“Wait here for me,” he instructed the guards. “I will go on alone and return shortly.”

“As you wish, my king.”

The doors closed behind him when he passed through, and he was alone in the Vault. Or at least, there were no _people_ around. Whether or not that meant he was alone depended on one other thing.

His footsteps echoed as he took the stairs slowly, watching the Tesseract come into view. Its glow seemed benign now, diminished. Of course it had seemed innocuous before, but _that_ had been proven untrue, and almost at too great a cost for him to bear. But here it was now before him, and as he looked upon it for the first time since setting it here, he felt no prodding from it, though the hairs on his arms still prickled in response. It was asleep yet, and would remain so for a long time.

He knew what he’d felt from that device and from the pillar in the caves, though. It did raise the question – if the Tesseract and all its knowledge resided here, how had its power gotten into Doom’s hands?

As he turned to go, he paused. The Casket stood on its own plinth beside the Tesseract, and after a moment’s consideration Loki turned fully, reaching out to take the Casket in both hands again as he had done once before. And as before he watched the blue color crawl over his skin, the frigid magic of Jotunheim’s stolen treasure banishing the illusion of his Asgardian nature, Loki felt the revulsion lessen a little. Not leave him fully, but enough that he let the color linger a moment, staring at it in the flat light of the Vault, before causing it to fade away.

_I am Loki,_ he thought. _That is all that I care for._

*

Sif waited until her husband had gone, then slipped from bed as her handmaidens came in to wake and prepare her. She waved them off, though.

“I have an errand I must complete before I can be made ready for the day,” she said, pulling on a tunic and her leggings. “I will need a warm cloak, please, and some other items.”

She had packed most of what she needed the night before, but did her best to ignore the knowing look on her handmaiden’s face as she listed what else was left. The woman was a noble lady, though, and knew the value of discretion, so she curtsied and went to fetch the things Sif needed, bringing them back wrapped in dark cloth so none could see. 

“What should I tell the king if he asks after you?”

“Tell him to work on his patience,” Sif replied, pinning her cloak under her chin and drawing up the hood. “You have my permission, and if he complains he can speak to me of it.”

“Of course, my queen.”

Sif called for her horse and mounted up in the predawn chill, pulling her hood up over her head. Gylfi pranced under her but with a tug on the reins she dug her heels into his sides and he leaped forward. Where she was going was not far out of the city’s boundaries, but it was a goodly gallop, and his long strides would carry her quickly. He was a well-known horse, though, and as she passed a guard checkpoint leaving the city two riders fell in beside her. She nodded to each guard and turned her attention to guiding Gylfi along the forested track.

Asgard’s city was bounded by mountains and it was through the valleys between them that she rode, toward a spring on the shoulder of one that was where Odin’s father’s father first set foot on the realm. For thousands of years the women of the realm had come to it when they wished for children, leaving offerings and bathing in the cold, clear water. Their prayers were to Yggdrasil, mother of all. Frigga had told her of it many months ago, in one of their long walks through her gardens, recited the words. Sif had held them in her mind, but after coming back from Midgard, after the assault on Doom’s lair, her will had solidified.

She and Loki had talked for a long time one night. He had told her at last what had happened, how he had fought Rolfgar and won by use of his innate abilities as a Jotun. _That_ conversation had taken many turns, with Loki’s hands white-knuckled on his legs until Sif had covered them with her own. He had opened them then, laced their fingers, and something had eased in him. In the end, they had reached an understanding, and so here she was.

The path narrowed and rose, the air grew sharp with altitude and cold, and several miles outside of the city, Sif slowed Gylfi to a walk and dismounted.

“Wait here,” she said, dropping her reins to the ground. “I will not be long.”

“As you command, my queen,” one of the guards said. They leaned on their saddles as she took her pack off her saddle and went down a slender track between the trees.

The forest was dense enough so that the guards were soon out of sight, and the only sound to reach Sif’s ears was the soft rushing of the wind in the pines. After it seemed she had walked for an age, the sound of water was added to that, and then she came out of the trees into a space that was open to the sky.

It was a bowl-shaped depression in the ground. A well-worn path spiraled down around its sides, ending on a broad, flat ledge of rock that jutted out into a clear pool that reflected the growing dawn. A waterfall cascaded down the side over a huge, gnarled root darkened with moisture and age, and the caresses of thousands of hands. 

It was beautiful and peaceful, but Sif shook with nerves as she set her pack down and knelt to take out what she needed. A cloth that she spread out on the stone; a golden ewer, which she filled with water from the spring, a cup. Specific herbs from Eir’s stores, runestones worn smooth with age, and one last thing, a wooden carving said to be made from a root of Yggdrasil itself. Sif didn’t believe that, but it wasn’t important in this case. She arrayed the objects before her precisely, turning her critical eye upon the arrangement, adjusting the positions of the items until she was satisfied by it. The actions calmed her, took the tremor from her hands.

When that was done, she stood and stripped off her clothing, folding it neatly to one side. With the cool air stirring gently across her skin, Sif knelt once more, her knees on the rough stone, and filled the cup.

“Mother Yggdrasil,” she murmured in the old language, the words strange on her tongue, “Giver of life, from whom all things come and to whom all things will one day return. Your faithful servant Sif comes before you, stripped of her titles and the things she holds dear in the world of the living, for they hold no power in the place where your root pierces the realm and weaves Asgard into one of Nine, nestled in your branches.”

She grasped the golden ewer now, pouring some of the water into the cup as she spoke and raising it. The sky above her was growing lighter, but the Branches were always visible as a smear of color across the sky. “Mother Yggdrasil from whose trunk we sprung, Asagardian and Vanir, Jotun and elf, dwarf and mortal, your spark resides in each of us. I ask… I ask you to kindle a spark within me. Grant me a child, Mother, one who will shine with your light.”

She brought the cup to her lips and drained it. The water was frigid in her mouth, but as she drank she felt warmth spreading through her. Her shaking eased, her apprehension faded away as she rose with the ewer in hand and went to stand at the edge of the pool. The water that remained in the ewer Sif poured over herself, feeling it trickle down her back and over her face and between her breasts. She did not feel cold at all anymore, but warm, as hot as the suns that brought light to Asgard, and with that light and warmth Sif set the ewer down. The rock was firm under her feet as she walked into the pool, feeling the water envelop her, lap at her skin when she had waded chest-deep. 

Sif closed her eyes, hands stirring the water. It seemed charged with power that tickled along her skin, prickled under her nails and crackled along the length of her hair. She felt full of it, as though she could open her mouth and light would pour out. Instead she took a breath, wetting her lips to be able to speak around the sensation.

“Mother of all,” she whispered, “I offer myself to you in return.” Then she drew in a breath and sank under the water.

*

After he had finished in the Vault, Loki made his way back up to the residential levels of the palace. Servants fluttered out of his way, and though he had thought that there surely couldn’t be anything left to prepare, there were still decorations going up and vases of flowers being carefully set out and arranged.

_I suppose it’s a good thing that my own wedding was a rather hurried affair,_ he thought to himself. _I’d never have tolerated this._

Instead of going back to his chambers and getting ready, he stopped at a door one level down and went inside. “You look awful, Brother,” he said cheerfully. “Midgard alcohol is not so potent as to be felt days later, is it?”

Thor didn’t stop his pacing as Loki walked in and draped himself across a couch. “It is not that which occupies my mind this morning. I… what if I am not good enough for her, Loki?”

“Oh, I _know_ you are not.” At Thor’s glare, Loki put up his hands. “But as she has elected to not only bear you a daughter but also to keep you in her company, I think her decision has been made and you have little to worry about.”

“But my life, _our_ life… we are so different than what she knows, Brother. We will see thousands of years before we age, but she…” He began pacing again. Loki watched him.

“She still refuses Idunn’s apples, then.”

“And I know it is not my choice to force them upon her. I would never so disrespect her wishes.” Thor sighed and sat heavily next to Loki. “But how am I to be a good husband if one day I must step aside and let her grow old and… leave? I would see her protected and happy all her days, Loki.”

“Mortals are curious creatures. They spend all their lives cheating death, only to face it in the end.” Loki shrugged. “But if it sets your mind at ease, I doubt that Jane will ever _not_ be pleased with her choice to wed Asgard’s _shining prince._ ” There was perhaps a little too much lingering bitterness in the words, so Loki very quickly changed tacks before Thor could comment on it. “Protected, not safe, Brother?”

“She drove into the effluence of the Bifrost and hit me with her car,” Thor pointed out. “I can hardly stop her from doing more of the same if it brings her answers.”

“Fair enough.” Loki rose and made a gesture with one hand. “Come on, Thor. I’m certain all your concerns will evaporate as your stomach fills, and breakfast is being laid as we dawdle here.”

“Yes,” Thor said, then again, a little more strongly. “Yes, of course. A fine idea, breakfast.”

“I knew you would find it amenable.” 

“And that is why we are brothers.”

*

When she returned she found Loki in their chambers already, reading a book that looked incredibly dense. She eyed it. 

“I hope you aren’t going to be sneaking books to dinner like you used to,” she said, eyeing the title. “ _The Realms Beyond The Realms?_ ”

Loki pretended that he had only just noticed her, but his eyes had tracked her the moment she walked in. Sif gestured subtly at her handmaidens and they curtsied and followed her through to the bedchamber, bustling over to the mannequins where her two gowns for the day waited. Loki followed them in not long after, the doors shutting behind him.

“A little light reading before things begin,” he said. “You were out early.”

Sif stripped off her training leathers and eyed him in her mirror. “So were you.”

“Your hair is wet.”

“That happens when one is submerged in water, as I am about to be once more.” She made a show of leaning over, pushing her nose into the collar of his jacket. He smelled sharp – ozone, ice, leather. She pulled a face. “You should be as well. You reek.”

“Reek, reek…”

“If I am to be treated to another one-sided discussion about those books…” Sif handed her boots to her handmaiden and smiled her thanks, walking naked across the gleaming floor into the bathing chamber. “You were quite enough trouble the first time through.”

“They were quite engrossing.”

“ _And_ the second…” Sif glanced over her shoulder and smirked a little to see her husband following her in, his clothes already beginning to shimmer away. Sometimes, Loki was entirely too predictable.

“ _Engrossing._ ”

The water in the bath steamed and Sif slid in. Feeling the water lap and shift against her skin, she turned and held out her arms and Loki came to them, his lips finding her throat and pressing against the big vein as his hands slid up her sides. Sif tilted her head back and laughed, for she still felt full of Yggdrasil’s light (or perhaps her own anticipation, for she had not been able to reconcile the experience during her ride back to the palace) and thought perhaps to see it sparking along her husband’s skin in the wake of her caresses. Her fingertips traced his collarbones, his chest, down his sides and up the knobs of his spine as she wrapped her long, strong legs around his waist.

“I do not think you speak of the book any longer,” she whispered in his ear, and was rewarded by a shudder and a hand stroking her belly, stroking lower until Sif gasped and dug her nails into his shoulders.

Loki’s eyes were narrowed to slits and closed all the way as Sif rolled her hips against him. “We have to get ready,” he said, but it was only an overture to protestation, and another roll of her hips cut him off from whatever he was going to say next.

“Let them wait a moment,” she said against his lips, gripping his shoulders a little more tightly. “We have plenty of time.”

*

“Well? How do I look?”

Judging by the expressions (and in Darcy’s case, excited squealing), Jane’s hours spent bullying the royal couturiers had paid off. They had had one vision of what a woman of her position – a strange sort of princess, a mortal, already a mother – ought to wear, and it had _not_ been up to Jane’s standards at all. Asgardians were strange and intelligent people, but when they had a tradition, they clung to it with single-minded purpose. Jane had never had much of a taste for doing things simply because tradition dictated it be done as such, so she had dug in her heels.

The end result was something that was a compromise between Asgardian styling and what she had wanted. With Frigga’s help, they had come up with the gown she wore now. Cream-colored fabric rustled as she walked, flowing out from under draped crimson fabric. Even Frigga, who had seen the dress at all stages of its creation, pressed her fingertips to her lips and then rose to take Jane’s hands, gripping them warmly.

“You look beautiful, dear,” she said. “You always do, but today – Stars and Branches, you _shine_.”

Jane flushed, but felt some of her nervousness ease. “Thank you,” she said against Frigga’s shoulder as the woman embraced her tightly. “And what do you think, Lena?” she asked, picking up her skirts and walking over to where Darcy had the little girl in her lap. “Is Mama pretty?”

Lena squealed and reached for her, and Jane picked up her daughter and hugged her close. “And you look like a little princess too. All you need is a tiara.”

“That is why _I_ am here.”

The handmaidens that had helped Jane dress curtsied as Sif walked in, a wooden box in one hand. She was in her ceremonial garb, the gold and silver of her armor glittering in the sunlight coming in through the opened curtains. She nodded to the handmaidens, regal – then grinned, embracing Jane in a bone-crushing hug, no more a warrior or a queen but a friend. “I am so happy for you, Jane, _sister_.”

“Thanks, Sif.” Jane hugged her friend back as tightly as she could, but her eyes fell to the box as she stepped back. “Is that…?”

“It is. I’ve come to help you with it, if it is your will.”

“Of course.”

Frigga put her hand on Darcy’s arm and rose. “We should go see to my oldest,” she said. “If he is to be presentable, he’ll need his mother’s approval, and I am certain he wants to see his little one.”

“Don’t let her pass out,” Darcy said over her shoulder as they left. When the door closed, Sif and Jane went over to the vanity. Shaking a little, Jane sat on the plush stool and let Sif brush her hair. It already shone, but the sensation relaxed her enough so that her hands only shook a little when she opened the box.

“It’s beautiful,” she murmured, touching the contents.

“It suits you,” Sif replied quietly, separating Jane’s hair into sections. With practiced ease, she made braids and tails, pulling Jane’s hair away from her face, a rich brown fall down her back. “Are you ready?”

“As I’ll ever be.”

Sif stepped around and lifted the tiara out of its padding. Sif had told her – rolling her eyes as she did – of the habit of ladies modeling their own formal headwear after those their husbands wore, but Jane had quickly nixed that idea. The tiara she wore now was a band of gems cut in the shape of stars set in a slightly iridescent, silvery metal that brought to mind the colors of the Bifrost. A fitting thing for a woman who studied the heavens.

Sif smoothed her hand over Jane’s hair and stepped back. “It is good?”

“It’s _really_ good.” Jane stood, teetering for a moment, then let Sif embrace her again as tears prickled her eyes. “Thank you, Sif.”

They stood like that for a minute. Jane almost didn’t hear the door opening, but when Sif turned her head and said, “What do you want, husband?” she stepped back. Loki had poked his head through the door – no mean feat, considering he had his helm on.

“I was wondering if you were going to stand there _cuddling_ all day and making my dear brother fret even more,” he said loftily, “Or if we were going to make our way to the throne room. You and I are supposed to be the first ones in, dearest wife.”

“Jane required my aid.” Sif stepped aside, and Loki eyed the scientist for a moment.

“You look like a princess, Jane Foster,” he said at last. “Which is just as well, for you are about to become one. Shall we?”

Sif sighed, but the two of them followed Loki out and took his arms when he offered them.

“This is some sort of fantasy for you, is it not?” Sif muttered loud enough for Jane to hear. She felt her face heat up, but giggled – a little hysterically, but it made her relax more.

“It would hardly be appropriate for me to have fantasies about my brother’s soon-to-be wife,” Loki replied archly, but there was a light of mischief in his eyes as he looked over at Jane. “Unless, of course, the lady insists?”

“The lady does _not_ ,” Jane said firmly, but smiled just the same. “Your brother’s enough of a handful.”

“I have already laid my claim to this one.” Sif was smug. “And I am not terribly fond of sharing.”

“It seems my wife and I have much in common.” 

They bantered the rest of the way down to the level of the throne room, where Jane was to wait in an antechamber until right before she would make her way up to the dais. Sif embraced her one last time and left in a swirl of embroidered cloth, but Loki paused a moment.

“I do not often give truly honest opinions, Jane Foster, so pay attention,” he said. “But I will be glad to call you sister. You are quite intelligent… for a mortal.”

Jane rolled her eyes, but took the compliment for what it was and let him kiss her knuckles before heading back to the curtain-draped chamber just below the throne room stairs. “Thanks, asshole,” she said fondly.

*

Only one set of curtains separated them from the stairs leading up to the columned throne room, and the noise of thousands of gathered guests filled the air. Sif made an adjustment to one of her bracers, pulling the green cloth under it so it lay just so on her arm. She looked up to see Loki doing the same thing – checking over his armor to make sure every piece was in place – and reached out, smoothing her hand over the gold adornment on his chest.

“If you put fingerprints all over your armor from your fussing, you’ll be unbearable the rest of the day,” she told him. “It will only get out of place if you play with it more.” Sif tightened a buckle – an excuse to run her fingers over him, for though the passion had been banked for now her affections never were – and stepped back. As she did, though, Loki caught her fingers and held them a moment, his thumb running along callouses and scars from a lifetime of swordwork and adventure. There was something on his face – she could see it, the words wanting to come out, something just below the surface that he wanted to say.

“Are you ready?” Frigga asked behind them. She had turned around from where she’d been giving Thor her own once-over, and the pale purple of her gown sparkled with the gems set in its fabric. Loki let Sif’s hand drop and reached out to his mother, taking her offered hand and squeezing it.

“I suppose it _is_ about time to begin. Thor?”

The blond took a breath and nodded. “Yes. I don’t want to keep Jane waiting.”

“Like as not she would come storming out and wed you right here,” Sif told him. “Shall we?”

A bell rang and immediately the noise level of the crowd increased. One last moment to check themselves over, and then the curtains were pulled back. Loki held out his hand and Sif took it as they descended the steps before the long aisle. Ranks of guards snapped to attention and the assembled guests and courtiers smiled and bowed. Alfrún was there, and she met Sif’s eyes and smiled as she inclined her head more than was necessary. Sif had been glad to hear that the Einherji she had sent to aid the elf queen in putting down the rebellion had done their job well, and so she inclined her head too. 

Loki’s hand had warmed under her fingers and she was loath to let go of it as they reached the dais. Loki did not ascend to the throne but stood before it and Sif beside him, watching as the others filed up to the dais, three to a side. Thor stood opposite his brother and Sif felt an upswell of happiness to see them exchange a look she had once wondered if she would ever see again. 

Then the music changed, and all eyes turned to look at Jane. She had been offered the arm of many men, both scientists of Midgard and lords of Asgard and any one of them would have been proper, but Jane had insisted on entering alone.

“Are you not going to look at her, Brother?” she heard Loki murmur beside her. Thor seemed to pale a little bit.

“How does she…?”

“See for yourself.”

Thor took a breath – his cape actually shifted quite a bit with the movement of his shoulders – and turned, and Sif was glad that the Midgardians had brought in their cameras. She wanted an image of the expression on her friend’s face framed to last her centuries.

As Thor reached and took Jane’s hand, an expression of wonder on his face at the sight of her, she felt Loki’s fingertips brush against hers. Before she could spread her fingers and catch them he was stepping forward, beginning the ceremony, but the tingling coolness of his skin remained.

*

They all met in the antechamber again after the ceremony. Jane and Thor seemingly could not untwine their fingers, and so they were both embracing Darcy as she sobbed about how her best friend was married now and how it was all very beautiful. 

In the midst of many distractions Loki watched as Sif stretched up to embrace his brother, a brilliant smile upon her own face, and he felt jealousy. Not for fear of losing Sif to Thor – no, that was taken care of for now and potentially forever – but because his own offerings to her at their nuptials had been less than what either of them had envisioned, and in many cases far more uncomfortable. He wondered if she felt resentment, or perhaps longing for what might have been had her path been different.

There was certainly no trace of it in her face, or her eyes when they turned to him as the group made their way back to their rooms so those who were going to could change. Sif’s brows did draw together as they walked, though, taking one of the magically enhanced paths up to the residential levels.

“Where are your thoughts, husband?” she asked quietly. Her fingers pressed against his arm.

“They are at the feast ahead of us,” he said. “And the words I am meant to say in honor of my brother’s marriage. You have imposed some rather… _restricting_ rules upon me, wife.”

Sif did not quite buy his explanation, he could tell, but she narrowed her eyes. “I hope you _try_ to follow them, Loki, this is your brother’s wedding, and Jane is a _friend_ \--“

“A sister, now.”

“—yes, she is _family_ , and you know my thoughts on family.”

“Loyalty, honor, limited amounts of embarrassment in front of guests and people they do not know.” Loki waved a hand. “I _know_ , Sif.”

Still, when she had changed into a gown of emerald green and gold embroidery, her hair pulled away from her face and curling down her back under the gleaming metal of her crown, Sif leaned over with a deceptively sweet smile as they waited to be announced outside the grand hall and told him, “I am hiding five knives under this dress, Loki, and I know you will only find three of them. The other two will only appear if you _misbehave._ ”

“You,” Loki said, offering her his arm, “Are going to ruin my reputation.”

“It is already in shambles and you can save your energy for something else.”

Those Avengers who had never attended an Asgardian feast threatened to draw attention away from the newlyweds, but when Thor and Jane entered at last there wasn’t an eye in the hall not trained on them. Jane shone like the sun, and even Thor could only reflect her light.

For a time the noise in the hall was muted as everyone ate, but when the attendants were clearing away the last course and setting out dessert, the hum of conversation had risen. Calls began for _speech, speech!_ and _a toast to the Prince and to his new lady!_ The Warriors Three were loudest in demands for this, and when things escalated to Fandral making motions toward standing on his bench, Thor rose and put up his hands. The hall quieted.

“My friends,” he boomed happily, “Honored guests! Thank you all for your presence and well-wishes. Jane and I are very happy and grateful for both.” Applause and cheering filled the hall. Sif rolled her eyes, but her smile was fond as Thor continued.

“There is much I could say of my lovely, brilliant wife—“ and here he and Jane exchanged a warm look, her reaching up to take his hand and squeeze it “—but all of it would be far too inadequate to convey the truth of her. Jane is a woman who defies the limits placed upon her, a woman whose dreams are as grand as the stars she has dedicated her life’s work to. She honors me by sharing these dreams with me. I cannot fully convey how much this means to me, for words are not my strength… but luckily, they are my brother’s! Come, Loki—“

Thor was motioning him up to his feet, and with one last pointed look from Sif, he got to his feet to more applause. “Are you quite certain you want me to speak at your wedding feast?” he asked, when the noise had died down somewhat. “Or have you forgotten what happened that once—“

“I am not sure _anyone_ present could forget that particular dinner,” Thor interrupted. “But perhaps only a few words, Brother.”

“Only a few words,” Loki repeated in a long-suffering tone of voice as Thor sat down, lacing his fingers with Jane’s once more. “He pulls me up in front of you and then all but gags me himself. Such is our relationship.”

A smattering of laughter, then the hall slowly quieted as Loki scooped up his cup of mead, looking into it a moment as though he had no idea what to say. “Much has been spoken of my brother,” he said when it was silent and all eyes were on him. “And probably much _more_ about me. But, and I know this will come as a surprise, this is not all about _you_ , Thor.

It is also about Jane. I must make my manners to you, Lady,” he said, and sketched a bow, sweeping his helmet off his head and narrowly missing dropping his mead in Thor’s lap, to more laughter. “Anyone who manages to cow my brother deserves every accolade the king of Asgard can bestow. It is a singular woman who can capture Thor’s attention for more than a few moments. We all know how much he adores _shiny things_ , though, so perhaps it is not so much a surprise, and I will refrain from the obvious statements about how often he polishes his hammer or whatever aid you offer him in that arena, for I do _not_ wish to know, and I think the evidence is sitting in Lady Darcy’s lap at this moment.”

More laughter directed at Thor, who put a hand over his face. Jane’s face had flushed a bright pink with her own laughter but smiled at Lena, who had managed not to get anything on her pretty gold dress. “But it is that very quality of yours, Jane, that attracts him. You have absorbed some of the stars, to illuminate the way for others from your realm. I may even be jealous of my brother for successfully courting you. How _shocking._

“Either way, I have not only gained you as family, but there is finally someone in the family who will be able to understand _why_ I am happy tucked in a corner with a book. And for that, I wish you happiness in your marriage, Jane Foster. Thor… please try not to make a mess of things. You will never find another one like her, _ever,_ anywhere in the Nine Realms or beyond them.” He raised his cup. “To Jane Foster, the woman who tamed the stars, and to my brother Thor, and may they have many long years of joy.”

As one the hall erupted into chants of _hear, hear!_ and then into applause after all had toasted. Loki swept his cape aside and sat, looking over at Sif expectantly as he settled his helmet back upon his head. She was smiling at him in that curious, crooked way she would only show him.

“So,” he said. “Did I obey all your rules?”

“No,” she replied, but reached over under the table and took his hand where it rested upon his leg. “But I will let it pass.”

Loki curled his fingers around hers, then they slid apart to finish their desserts.

All through dinner, musicians had been setting up between two pillars at one end of the hall. The tables only occupied half the huge space, but guests had been rising and filtering over to the dance floor. They mingled upon it now, drinks in hand. Tony was conspicuously trying to avoid the elves and all but hiding behind Pepper to do so, Steve and Natasha seemed to be at home (Natasha had asked to have a gown in the Asgardian style made for her, and she looked comfortable enough to have grown up wearing such clothing), and the others at least seemed to be enjoying themselves, even Bruce, who had found some of Asgard’s scholars and was deep in conversation with them. Loki and Sif went among the guests, and Sif kept her hand tucked in her husband’s elbow rather than leaving to speak to anyone on her own.

When Thor and Jane put their heads together and spoke briefly, then nodded and rose, one of the musicians run a small silver bell. The sweet chime echoed through the hall, and those on the dance floor filtered to either side, turning to watch as Thor and Jane stepped out into the cleared space. The music began, slow and sweet and quiet as the couple began to dance. Thor moved with grace despite that he towered over Jane. She matched him step for step, the movements of a dance that had been old when her grandmother’s grandmother had been a babe in arms coming naturally to her.

As they danced Sif reached down and took his hand again and their fingers laced this time, hidden in folds of her gown and his cape, the kind of secret that was not at all hard to bear. When the dance had concluded and the musicians had taken up another song, he turned to her. At her nod, Loki shifted his grip on her hand and led her out.

“Congratulations, Thor,” he said out of the corner of his mouth as the two couples passed each other. “You have managed not to step on your bride.”

“Loki!” Sif hissed, trying not to smile. “Jane is swift. I am certain she could see her husband coming and get out of the way.”

“It’s difficult to miss Thor.” Jane smiled up at him. “He stands out.”

They smiled at each other again, Thor bringing Jane’s palm to his mouth for a kiss, and Loki rolled his eyes. “Let us dance somewhere else, Sif, I feel myself growing ill.”

*

The light of Yggdrasil’s Branches filtered down between the pillars of the hall as they walked back from the feast. Thor and Jane had left with Lena some hours ago, but the festivities had continued afterward, of course. Darcy had brought her own loud, raucous music, and while most of the courtiers had stayed away and observed the goings-on with curiosity, some had happily joined in. When Sif and Loki had made their last goodnights and left, the dance floor was no longer occupied by twirling couples, but had accumulated a cluster of jumping, yelling, gyrating guests.

“Well,” Sif murmured, “I do not think anyone will forget this wedding for quite some time.”

Loki snorted. “Typical of Thor that he cannot but be the one who stands out in the mind of all.”

“I do not think Thor had much to do with that scene we left.”

“And it was quite a different scene than at our wedding.”

At his tone of voice Sif looked over, her fingers tightening on his arm, and for a long time neither of them spoke. They walked through huge echoing promenades and terraces made fragrant with the gardens that stretched out below them, until at last Sif broke the silence.

“You think I regret it, even now,” she said, pulling Loki to a stop and facing him fully. Her eyes were narrowed. “After all we fought through together and learned together, after all we have become, _you_ think that I regret that our wedding was more political than passionate.”

“None could blame you.”

Sif seemed about to say something, and Loki braced himself for a tirade… but all she did was sigh and pass her hand over her face. Sliding her hands up his chest, she cupped his cheeks, fingers warming the metal of his helm.

“You are _impossible_ ,” she said. “Loki, there are many things that I wish had gone differently, or that I had done differently. But I do not regret marrying you, nor the manner of how we came to it.” 

The soft sound of metal on metal echoed through the terrace; Loki’s helm and Sif’s crown meeting. His fingers found her jaw, her throat, the long silky strands of her hair, and she sighed against his mouth just before she kissed him hard, leaving no room for doubt. When she finally released him, she made sure to keep their eyes locked, though her eyes were glittering with humor.

“This is why I am here,” she said. “You spend far too much time looking behind you, Loki. I remind you to look forward.”

He was loath to let her go, but the noise of other guests was starting to filter up to them as others left the gathering, and Loki did not want to share these moments with anyone. They were for himself and Sif alone. With her, it was… safe, to do these things.

They walked, letting the silence stretch on, and though there were many things he could have filled it with, for once he was content to be quiet, and walk in the night with his wife.


End file.
